


Penn & Teller Go Network

by LokiOfSassgaard



Series: Penn & Teller Do Stuff [1]
Category: Penn & Teller Get Killed, Penn & Teller RPF, Saturday Night Live RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-01
Updated: 2003-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 35,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6305779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiOfSassgaard/pseuds/LokiOfSassgaard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys finally get their big television break.  It'll make them famous, even if it kills them.</p><p>Very old.  Don't look at me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

It was shortly after two in the morning when the big rig pulled into the Flying J. The driver stopped just long enough to let the passenger, a barely-out-of-high-school hitchhiker, climb out of the cab. The kid didn't often make it a point to hitch rides with truckers, but it was never an experience he regretted.

At that hour of the morning, most of the truck stops buildings were closed for the night. Only a McDonald's—which that was at this point Drive-Thru only—and a Chevron station still had their lights on for business, but as he walked across the rain-soaked pavement to the Chevron station, he noticed a small, brick building with its lights on, that was hidden behind a few trucks. Being one to play the odds, he turned toward the new prospect, realizing that it was a small diner as he drew closer; most likely a Mom-and-Pop's joint that never left when Big Business came into town.

He stepped into the small, yellow-lit room, pausing briefly to take in the ambiance. A sign near the entrance read "Please Seat Yourself," so he did just that, taking a seat at the near end of the service counter. At the other end of the counter, the young waitress was pouring coffee into a patron's cup.

"Teller, honey," she said softly as she placed the cream and sugar on the counter in front of him. "We are out of bagels and tomatoes tonight."

The patron — did she call him "Teller?" — gave her a look of mild disappointment. It seemed as though he was a "regular" with a "usual."

"You want a menu tonight?" she asked him.

He nodded.

As the waitress walked over to get Teller a menu, she noticed Penn at the other end of the counter. She quickly took the menu down to Teller before returning to her new guest.

"What can I get ya, sugar?" she asked lightly.

"You do milkshakes?" Penn asked.

"Yup."

"Vanilla milkshake, please," Penn said.

"That all?" the waitress asked.

"Yup," Penn said with a smile.

The waitress didn't even bother with writing out a ticket. She hurried off to the kitchen to fix up Penn's milkshake. In almost no time at all, she returned with a large tumbler and a long spoon. She absently sat it before Penn before stepping over to tend to Teller's order.

"You decide on anything yet?" she asked him.

Teller turned the menu around so she could read it proper and pointed to something near the bottom. The waitress jotted out a ticket and picked up the menu.

"Be just a bit," she said with a smile.

She put the ticket up in the window and banged on the aluminium siding with her fingers.

"Billy!" she called out. "This one's for Teller, here."

"Gotchya!" a voice from back in the kitchen shouted.

Penn dug at his milkshake with the spoon and took a drink. It was a bit thin, but otherwise good. Feeling the urge to pound out a game of solitaire, he dug a deck of cards from his rucksack and shuffled them a few times. As he got ready to set up his game, he felt a light tapping on his left shoulder. He looked up to see Teller suddenly seated in the chair next to him.

"Can I help you?" Penn asked slowly.

Teller timidly pointed to the deck of cards Penn held in his hand.

"What?" Penn asked uncertainly. "You want the cards?"

Teller nodded slightly. Not sure what to expect from the possibly batty local, Penn handed the cards over. He'd recently spent some time with a professional outlaw gambler, so a friendly game of poker wasn't entirely out of his element. Teller quickly made a perfect fan, cut the pack and shuffled it a few times. He fanned the cards out once more, this time inviting Penn to take one. Penn hesitantly took one from the middle of the fan and looked at it. It was the Three of Clubs. He slid the card back into the fan and watched as Teller shuffled as though he'd done this for every person who had ever walked through the front door. Teller smiled smugly and flipped the top card from the deck, showing it to Penn. It was the Queen of Hearts.

Penn shook his head. "No," he said.

The smile quickly faded from Teller's face. He pulled off the next card, this time more desperate in his moves. The Seven of Diamonds.

"Nope," Penn said. Quickly losing interest, he took a drink of his milkshake.

Teller slowly sat the cards down on the counter and bit his knuckle. He waited for Penn to almost forget about him before he reached into his mouth and pulled out, one-by-one, an entire deck's worth of Threes of Clubs, letting them flutter all over the area.

Penn started to laugh so hard that he lost his milkshake through his nose. Teller laughed silently to himself as he started to gather up the mess he'd made. He dropped down to the floor to gather the cards on the dining room side of the counter, returning to his new seat next to Penn just as Billy came out from the kitchen with his plate.

"Here you are, Mr. Teller," Billy said as he sat the faux-stoneware plate down on the counter. "One Traditional Clubhouse with much too much mayonnaise." He bent down and picked up a few of Teller's cards.

Teller smiled, reached into the air, and pulled a five dollar note out of nowhere. He handed it to Billy just as he realized that he'd mislaid his drink.

"It's over there," Penn said, sopping up his milkshake mess with a handful of cheap paper napkins.

Teller jumped up and grabbed his cup from the other end of the counter.

"You come here often?" Penn asked as Teller sat back down.

Teller nodded.

The more Penn thought about it, the more he wanted to hear this odd man say something. His strange prolonged silence was beginning to border on downright creepy.

"That was some card trick," Penn said, hoping to spark even a bit of idle chatter. "How'd you do that?"

Teller smiled coyly and shook his head.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Penn looked up sharply to see Billy hanging out by the kitchen door.

"Nope," Penn said, perhaps a bit too proud of the fact. "I hitched a ride on the way up to my mother's house."

A harsh clanging sound cut through the heavy diner atmosphere, making Penn jump slightly. He looked out the door to see the newspaper rack being filled by a rather shady-looking character. Teller jumped up from his seat and walked out to fetch himself a paper.

"What's up with this guy?" Penn asked as soon as Teller was out of earshot. "He hasn't said word one all night."

Billy sighed and leaned in closely. "Not that it's any of your goddamned business," he said quietly, "but it's my understanding that he can't."

Penn's heart fell into his stomach. "Oh," was all he could think to say. He looked out at Teller, waiting patiently for the over-aged paper boy to finish his duties. "Poor guy."

"You said you hitched up here?" Billy asked, sharply changing from the painfully awkward subject.

Penn nodded and took a drink of what was left of his shake.

"Yeah," he said. "Been on the road for a while now, and I figured it was time to go the fuck home."

Teller walked back inside and sat down at the counter, totally engrossed in the paper's headlines — no doubt more bad news from Viet Nam. Going out of his way to avoid eye contact, Penn finished off his milkshake.

"Do you know where a guy could shack up for the night?" he asked.

"There's a cheap hotel on the other end of the lot," Billy said, almost instantly. "Probably about twenty or thirty bucks for the night."

Penn dug out his wallet and thumbed through the cash. Thirty bucks for the night wasn't ideal, but it was do-able. He put a five dollar note on the counter — enough for the bill and the tip — and picked up his rucksack. "Thanks," he said. He looked back at Teller, who was still reading the front page of his paper. "See ya round, man," Penn said.

Teller waved lightly, his eyes fixed on the newsprint.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Saturdays were always great days for street performances. The streets of Philadelphia were packed with people looking for something to do, making it more than easy for a person to bring in three hundred dollars or more.

Teller made his camp on his usual corner down town and sat his attaché case and duffel bag down on the stone ground. He pulled a crude cardboard sign — "Magic Begins when 100 Needles are in the Apple" — and propped it against a lamp post. After making sure that the wind wouldn't carry the sign away, Teller sat down on his bag, and slowly began sticking a shiny red apple with embroidery needles, as though it was a festive pin cushion. A small crowd began to form, curious to see what apples and needles had to do with magic.

"Hey, what's this?"

Teller looked up from his apple work to see the kid from the night before taking something from his own tattered rucksack. The kid looked down at Teller.

"Don't mind me," he said as he started to juggle five unlit torches. "Just some pre-show entertainment."

He tossed the torches from hand to hand with seemingly no thought at all. After a few seconds, he paused in his motions just long enough to let one of the torches drop. He bent to pick it up and turned back to Teller.

"Do I know you?" Penn asked.

Teller stared back at him blankly.

"Wait. We met last night... kinda." Penn held out his hand. "The name's Penn," he said. "Teller, was it?"

Teller reached up to shake Penn's hand and nodded. When he'd first seen the kid the night before, Teller knew he was big, but now that he was standing, the kid was huge.

Penn waved his hand at Teller. "Go on with your preparation," he said. "I'll take care of the crowd."

Penn put two of the torches back in his rucksack and pulled out a lighter. In one swift movement, he had all three torches lit and in the air, dancing gracefully around one another. Almost instantly, people began to gather, knowing that what they were witnessing was highly illegal.

"Check it out, folks!" Penn boomed. His voice was no longer calm and almost sing-songy. He suddenly turned into a loud, aggressive animal, more suiting to his size. "In just a few short minutes, Teller here will be performing the most amazing magic you've ever seen. That's right; you've never seen anything like it before!"

He continued to toss his torches back and forth, pausing in his speech every few words to keep his rhythm.

"But you folks definitely aren't here to watch me do this," he went on. "The sign clearly says "magic," so that's what you've come here to see. You want to see amazing sleight of hand and manipulations; not a load of circus clown tom-foolery. But no matter what you want to see, I know what you're hoping to see. You're hoping that I have an accident!"

The longer he went on hijacking Teller's show, the more Teller wished he'd vanish. Penn threw one of the torches slightly higher into the air than the other two and deliberately grabbed the flaming wrong end. With a painfully blood-curdling scream, he threw the torch down to the ground and let the other two fall.

"There," he said with no hint of pain in his voice whatsoever. He pulled a jug of water out of his bag and doused the torches. "Happy?"

He looked back to see Teller poking the last of his needles into the apple. Penn picked up his torches and stepped aside.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he barked with more gusto than a carnival talker. "Teller!"

Teller looked up to a crowd three or four times larger than was he was accustomed to seeing. He stood up to take his mark as Penn stepped back and tried to get as out-of-sight as six and a half feet in psychedelic tie-dye could.

After a brief moment of adaptation, Teller held his apple high into the air for everyone to see. He pulled one of the needles out of the fruit and held it up at his fingertips, letting the sun's light glint sinisterly off of its shiny silver surface. After a few seconds, he jabbed his thumb down onto the point, drawing a small bead of blood. A few people in the crowd laughed - a reaction that didn't come very often. Teller held his thumb up, allowing everyone in the crowd to see his self-afflicted damage.

Teller pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and quickly cleaned his hands. He reached into the crowd and pulled a young college-aged lad into the circle with him. Teller handed him the apple — and the needles — to inspect.

"Looks good," The kid said, barely looking at it at all.

Teller shrugged and began removing the needles a few at a time from the apple. Once he got to about ten or fifteen, he placed the needles on the tip of his tongue and swallowed them, making sure to gag and appear to choke. He repeated this act several times, at one point taking nearly twenty-five needles at once. When he was done, he smiled and handed the apple back to his unwilling assistant.

"What about these?" the student asked, pointing to a group of about ten needles near the bottom of the apple.

Teller reluctantly plucked the remaining needles from the fruit and swallowed them. He took a bite from the apple and underhand tossed it into the crowd. As he chewed the apple, he pulled a small jeweler's case from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to his helper. The student opened it to find a small dentist's mirror and a flashlight. Getting perhaps too close for comfort, Teller held his mouth open with his fingers and allowed the student to fish around until he was convinced nothing was hidden.

"Looks good," he said with a nod.

Teller took back the mirror and flashlight and pulled a small spool of white thread from the same pocket. He unraveled about two meters of thread, holding it high in the air, as so everyone could get a good view at its length. Folding the thread over twice, as to make it a more manageable length, he put one end into his mouth. Slowly, he began to swallow the thread. Once more, he let the student inspect his mouth, and once more, the student found nothing.

Teller coughed lightly, as though clearing his throat, and looked up toward the sky. After a few seconds of working it with his tongue, a piece of white thread appeared at his lips. He grabbed it with his fingertips and began to pull it from between his tongue and teeth. After about six inches of bare thread, the embroidery needles were strung up on the thread, each gracefully dropping off the tip of his tongue. Teller held the thread up into the air, drawing thunderous applause from the crowd.

Teller continued on in this matter with Penn for nearly an hour — Penn juggling various hazardous objects to gather a crowd while Teller readied himself for his next illusion. The more Penn watched Teller perform from the sidelines, the more awestruck he became by his would-be partner's performance style. He respected the fact that unlike every other magician he'd ever seen, Teller didn't insult the crowd by outright lying to them — rather he used their intelligence and observations against them.

At the end of each of Teller's performances, Penn would take the cash they'd gathered in Teller's old top hat and set it aside. When Teller was out of material almost an hour later, Penn counted out their earnings and divided it exactly in half, giving each of them almost five-hundred dollars. As they started to pack their equipment away, a beat cop began to advance toward them. Teller noticed the cop first, and rushed to cram everything into his duffle bag.

"You boys realize that you can't be doing this here," the cop said, waving his flashlight at the ground.

Penn stepped up to the cop.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, back to his unnaturally calm tone. "We didn't know there was a law against that here. We've been on the road doing this for a few years, and we've never had any trouble before."

The cop looked them both over — Penn in torn khakis and a beaten leather vest over dirty dye-dye and Teller in old trousers and a too-big jacket over a too-big T-Shirt, and both in serious need of a shave and a haircut — and stepped in closely to Penn. Penn quickly glanced down at Teller, who was prepared to leave all of his props and bolt if the situation proved necessary.

"Next time," the cop said loud enough for only Penn to hear, "you boys be sure to get yourselves a permit. Until then, check yourselves into a hotel room and get cleaned up."

"We will, officer," Penn said with a nod.

The cop looked them over once more before turning to continue on his beat. As soon as the cop was gone, Teller sighed deeply and plopped down on his duffle bag. He picked up his attaché case from the ground and held it close against his chest.

"That was a close one," Penn said with a laugh.

Teller looked up at him and nodded. For a second or two, Penn thought he saw perhaps a bit of gratitude in Teller's expression. Curious about his new friend, Penn sat down on the ground next to Teller.

"Ya know," he said. "I think we make a pretty good team."

Teller thought about Penn's statement for a moment. He wasn't particularly fond of the kid's piss-off attitude, but there certainly was no denying the fact that he could draw a crowd.

"Every good magician needs an assistant," Penn continued. "What do you say we split the expenses, divide the profits fifty-fifty and see where this takes us?"

Teller was apprehensive at the kid's eagerness. Penn had to have been at least ten years Teller's junior, but he sounded like he'd been in the business for at least as many years. And what of the off chance that something didn't work out and Teller wanted to split? Penn was much bigger — at least twice Teller's size — and could easily overpower him. But too many profitless weekends on Teller's behalf was a huge temptation to take this secret weapon of a fire-yielding juggler the size of a yeti.

Biting his lip and swallowing his pride, Teller nodded slightly.

"Great!" Penn said with the toothy grin of a table-hopping magician as he stuck his hand out in front of Teller.

Still hesitant, Teller clenched his fist before taking Penn's hand in his own, sealing the barely-verbal deal with a handshake.


	2. Saturday

Just like a twisted Steve Martin film, all flights had been cancelled due to inclement weather conditions. Sheets of snow-covered ice blanketed the tarmac at O'Hare as it often did this time of year.

"I think we may be stuck here for a while," Penn said as he sat in one of the empty seats next to his partner. Thanksgiving was still far enough away that the terminal hadn't been turned into the world's largest hobo camp yet, but it was crowded enough.

"Man, I don't want to be stuck here," Penn continued.

Teller was too preoccupied with a trash novel that hadn't been in his possession five minutes before to acknowledge Penn.

"When's the show in Manhattan?" Penn asked.

Without looking up from the trash novel, Teller pulled a dog-eared note card from his breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed it over to Penn. In Teller's scrawling handwriting was written

 

Manhattan - 30 Rockefeller Centre

8H - Saturday 11.30p

Meeting Monday - Noon

 

"Kinda late for a show, isn't it?" Pen wondered aloud. Not expecting a response from his partner, Penn pocketed the card and looked around the terminal. "I'm so not paying for a hotel room out of pocket," he grumbled. Across the terminal, he spotted a traveler sleeping on the floor, cuddled up with his bags. "And I'm not doing that, either."

Teller took the cue and slid his book into his attaché case. Taking the time to fold everything properly, Teller took off his tie and jacket, exchanging them for a Phillies ball cap and a pair of glasses he was supposed to wear for reading. As Penn shed his glasses, jacket, and vest, Teller situated his chair so that it faced the cheap ply-board end table to his left. Penn dug a deck of red-backs from his pocket as he moved to the other side of the table, and after a few quick false shuffles, dealt out a game of Texas Hold-'em. Rather than dicking around with the blinds, Teller tossed two singles down on the table to act as the ante.

By the time they got to the river, a traveler that looked to be of a business nature dragged a seat up to the table and asked to be dealt in during the next hand. This was all they needed. Teller's deal was next, and he stacked the deck so the new guy would win the hand. They continued to rotate the deal, so when Business Trip took the deal, Teller used the Bic markings on the cards to bluff a decent win. Two more guys shortly took seats at the table — the younger one, judging by the state of his luggage, was a college student, and the older was a Marine — and asked to be included. As the deal rotated around the table, Teller threw a few hands and Penn took a few small pots. Throughout the game, Teller would palm off cards on his deal and ditch them in the back of his ball cap, always keeping the deck at fifty-one cards. Business Trip and Gunny were both everything Penn and Teller could have hoped against hope for — experienced cocky players that bet big.

"Man, I suck tonight," Penn said with a nervous chuckle. "And this creep's taking all my lunch money!"

He pointed to Teller, who had just thrown a forty-dollar pot to Gunny. Business Trip and Undergrad laughed. Gunny took the next deal when Teller noticed it — a sloppy second-deal that Helen Keller would have been able to bust. Teller glanced up at Penn, whose eyes darted to Gunny. With a quick glance to the card Gunny was holding out, Teller tried to fire up a quick strategy. The only card Gunny for sure knew would come up next was the Ace of Hearts — the Jack and Queen he had managed to give himself were pure chance. Suddenly changing the rules, Teller managed to stay in the game through the River, when Gunny finally threw down the Ace. With the Ten and King in the flop, Gunny now had himself a straight. Teller scratched the back of his head as he often did as a false tell, loading the Queen he'd been holding out under his ball cap. He checked his cards nervously, switching his Seven with the Queen. He looked around the table at the players, scratching his head again, loading the Seven under his ball cap. He glanced up at Penn assuringly and tossed a ten note down on the table. Gunny quickly matched.

"Whatchya got, little man?" Gunny asked.

"Show 'em," Penn said.

Gunny flipped his cards to show his Ten-Ace straight. Teller smiled and flipped his, showing five face cards; two Jacks, a Queen, and two Kings.

"High cards ain't much good if you can't count," Gunny said, reaching for the pot.

"Actually," Penn said, stopping him. "That's a Blaze, and that beats your Straight."

"He's right," Business Trip said matter-of-factly.

As Teller took the pot, the perfect opportunity arose for him to burn the game. As Gunny argued with Penn and Business Trip over the rules about using freak hands, a call came over the crackling loudspeakers. Someone named Greg Taylor was requested down in baggage claim. Teller quickly gathered up the cards and shoved them in his attaché case before picking up the rest of his gear and darting off toward baggage.

"I guess it's pointless now," Penn said, watching Teller run awkwardly toward baggage. "He took the cards."

Penn gathered his own belongings and left toward the nearest restroom. Undergrad waited a few moments before getting up to find the rest of his party.

"I didn't know his first name was Greg," he said to himself, slightly amused. It never occurred to him that the other two players wouldn't recognize a magician when they saw one.

After changing back into his work suit, Penn wound his way down to baggage claim. He found Teller, still wearing the Phillies cap, but otherwise back in his suit, standing in a back corner.

"How'd we do?" Penn asked, putting his duffle bag down.

Teller pulled a stack of singles and fives from his inner jacket pocket and handed it over to Penn. Penn quickly counted through it and put it in his own pocket.

"Eighty-four bucks," he said, impressed. "Nicely done, Teller."

Teller pulled a second stack of cash from a different pocket and separated it out, giving back to Penn what he'd put in over the course of the game.

"This should definitely get us a room," Penn said as he picked up his bag.

Teller nodded and lead the way to the taxi bay. As they passed through the double doors, he took off his ball cap and dropped it on the head of a small child, effectively ridding himself of what he thought was the only thing connecting him to the game.

"We'll rent a car tomorrow and just drive into New York," Penn said as they waited in line for a cab. "This place is gonna be packed for days."

Teller nodded as he hailed the two of them a cab.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

The money they had swindled from their Hold-'em scam was enough for the cab ride and a cheap hotel, and still have cash left for cheap meals for the next few days. Penn left Teller in the room while he returned to the lobby, where he had seen a few vending machines as they checked into the room. He fed the soda machine two singles and bought two generic-brand colas, only to realize after the fact that the snack machine was out of service.

"Excuse me," Penn said to the pre-occupied clerk behind the counter. "Do you know where I could score something quick for my friend and I to eat?"

The clerk put his newspaper down and looked out the window.

"You could try the Chevron across the street, there," he said flatly.

Penn thanked the man and left the lobby. As he trotted across the icy parking lot, he crammed the soda cans into his jacket pockets. The streets were all but deserted, so Penn took it as a pass to jaywalk across the street to the Chevron Station.

The Chevron clerk moved nervously as Penn walked through the door. He was a small European-looking man — smaller than Teller, Penn thought — who wasn't used to seeing many people Penn's size walk into his store.

"Howdy," Penn said as he walked past the counter.

After first grabbing two cold sandwiches from the chilled rack, Penn walked back to the drink rack. He glanced over the various brightly painted aluminium cans. At first, he thought he was out of luck. He was about to just get some regular chocolate milk for Teller when he spotted a row of school bus yellow cans hidden behind a single Pepsi can. Penn took two Yoo-hoo cans and brought everything back up to the counter.

"Is this everything, sir?" the clerked asked nervously. His accent sounded something like Polish, but Penn couldn't quite place it.

"Yep," Penn said

He paid with the Hold-'em money and put the pennies he received with his change in the red Take a Penny/Leave a Penny box on the counter.

"Thanks," Penn said before walking back out to the cold.

He shook the Yoo-hoo cans, one in each hand, as he walked back to the hotel room. He opened the door, finding Teller already changed into a pair of pajama bottoms and a white undershirt, and stretched out on his bed, reading his book. As Penn shut the door, he gracefully tossed the Yoo-hoo cans, one at a time, to Teller. Without looking up from his book, Teller reached up into the air and caught the cans just before they smashed into the wall.

"Here you go," Penn said as he sat down on the second bed. He handed Teller a sandwich before laying his own meek dinner before himself on the bed. Teller put his book down and cracked open one of his drinks.

"One of these days, I'm not gonna shake those things for you," Penn said off-handedly. "I shake those damn things out of the kindness of my heart, you know."

Teller flashed him a patronizing smile as he fiddled with the cellophane wrapper on his sandwich.

"That or I'll find you a nice yellow soda can and shake the hell out of it," Penn continued to himself as he gingerly picked the slices of tomato from his sandwich.

He put the slices of tomato on a napkin and sat it on the table between the two beds. Teller picked up the napkin and put the tomato slices on his own sandwich, ignoring Penn's comment about the soda. He took things for granted, but he wasn't blind. But the remark did make him suddenly aware to the fact that he was long overdue for one of his partner's mean-spirited practical jokes.

As Penn ate, he opened the night stand drawer and pulled out the brown leather-bound Gideon Bible. He held it over his lap, pages facing down, and riffled through the pages. Nothing fell out. Penn shrugged as he opened it to a random page. He tore the page out, folding it neatly, and dropped the Bible behind the night stand.

He hardly ever found anything any more.


	3. Sunday

Penn was jarred from his sleep by a harsh rapping on the door.

"Check out already?" he mumbled as he groped around the night stand for his glasses.

He glanced at the bright red LED numbers of the alarm clock, a sudden urge rushing through him to huck it across the room when he saw that it wasn't even seven o'clock yet.

"What the hell?" he growled as he stumbled over to the door, not bothering to put on his trousers.

He threw the door open, cracking the frame at the hinges, only to find the step barren as the dark side of the moon. He stood in the cold November air for a few seconds before shutting the door. As he swung it shut, he noticed a white envelope taped to the peeling paint of the door. He plucked it off, letting the door slowly swing shut behind him. Inside the envelope was a note written on Yellow legal-pad paper.

 

If you're interested in making some real money, meet me at Jackson's in a half hour. Don't bother with bringing your friend. You'll be back before he's awake.

 

Something about the note left a sick feeling in Penn's gut. He looked over at Teller, sleeping on top of the covers with his trash novel open on his chest. Wild boars could stampede through the room, and Teller would sleep right through it.

Penn read the note a few more times, trying to figure out what to do. He'd seen Jackson's the night before when he went to get dinner, so he knew that whomever had written the note had expected him to take some time to think. He thought about what this anonymous person might have meant when they said "real money." Penn & Teller only grossed a few hundred bucks after expenses from their last gig, a private party, and probably wouldn't do any better at the next one. The simple sad truth of it was they made more money doing illegal street performances.

Penn put the note on the counter and reached for his trousers. He could at least check it out. If he decided that he didn't like the pitch, he would just come back and not mention anything to Teller. He left the top button of his shirt undone, not bothering with his vest and tie. Still unsure of the whole situation, he slid into his jacket and grabbed the room key. He'd be a little early, but to be early was to be on time, and to be on time was to be late. To be late was simply unforgivable. He left the room, locking the door behind him and jaywalked across the street again, trotting across the sprawling parking lot to Jackson's, a small chain diner.

The place was completely empty. Penn took a seat at a table facing the door and waited for someone — anyone — to approach him. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, a young waitress came up to the table.

"What can I get you?" she asked, sounding like she'd just worked a twelve-hour shift.

Penn checked his watch, deciding almost instantly that it was far too early for a soda.

"Just tea for now," he said with a smile.

As he looked up at the waitress, he realized that he had forgotten to do something with his hair. He pulled a small red hair band from his jacket pocket and pulled his hardly-tamable hair into a pony tail.

The waitress brought him a small cup of hot water and a tea bag and left him alone with his thoughts. He could still leave. No one was there yet, so he could still leave and Teller would never have to know.

He began to prepare his tea. He'd just listen to the pitch. He bothered to dress and walk across the street, so he felt he should at least do something. If he didn't like the pitch, he just wouldn't say anything about the meeting.

The door swung open and a man wearing a tailored blue blazer walked into the room. He noticed Penn right away and sat down across the table from him.

"You showed up," he said. He sounded slightly amused, as though he didn't expect to see Penn. "That's good," he continued. "It was going to be you guys or going through Gilbert again."

"Gilbert?" Penn couldn't stop himself from asking.

The man waved his hand in the air. "Actor," he said. "And not a very good one. But it's not important."

"I see," Penn lied. He poured an unhealthy amount of sugar into his tea. "So, what's this whole meeting all about?" he halfway demanded.

Penn reached for the note in his jacket before realizing that he'd forgotten it back in the room.

"I need you boys to lift something for me," the man said. "You're already booked to be in the same building that week, so it's just a matter of getting down to the right floor. In the Letterman studio."

Penn stirred his tea slowly.

"What do you mean 'lift'?" he asked.

"One of the guests on Letterman is going to be in possession of a certain stolen item," Penn's breakfast partner said, careful of his word choice. "I need you boys to go down to Letterman's studio and recover it for me. You'll be safely in Philadelphia before they even notice."

Penn stared at the man across from him. It sounded mighty risky, even for someone who performed risky material on a near-daily basis.

"How did you know we're going to Philly after New York?" Penn asked flatly.

He felt a rush of panic race throughout his chest. It was no small secret that Teller's parents were still living in Philadelphia.

"Let's just say," the man started, "that a certain young fan of yours really wanted to see your show next weekend."

Penn stared blankly across the table.

"A few schedule and... biographical details were nothing in return for a guarantee into the show," he continued.

Penn gritted his teeth and shook his head. He was beginning to like this man less and less. He talked like one of those wise guys from the movies.

"If you could give Todd tickets to the hardest damn show to get into, why couldn't you just get the damn thing yourself?" he demanded.

"Because I have to be in L.A.," the wise guy said coldly.

"I see," Penn lied again. "This sounds kinda dangerous. I don't think Teller would—"

"Teller won't give you any grief," the wise guy interrupted. "He's gotten rather used to having you around." He paused for a brief moment, letting Penn take in his every word. "Someone to make sure he's fed and has a warm place to sleep. It's hard for... someone like him to—"

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with him," Penn snarled, jumping to his partner's defense almost on auto-pilot. "And we split everything fifty-fifty."

"And what are you making?" the wise guy asked. "Two, maybe three hundred a show? I'm talking five grand a piece."

Penn simply didn't have a reply. This was a ten thousand dollar job, and at most, all they'd have to do was take advantage of Teller's sleight of hand skills.

"I saw what you boys did at the airport last night, and I have to say, I'm impressed," the wise guy said. "Eighty bucks in a half hour. I've got guys in Vegas counting cards that can't pull that off on most nights." Penn stared at him blankly. The wise guy continued. "There's a rental car back at the airport in your name. It's already paid for and your checked luggage is waiting for you in the rental office. Alls you gotta do is go to New York just like you planned and do your little show, and do a favor for me. When I get the goods, you get the dough."

Penn looked around the diner nervously. This couldn't be for real. Teller definitely wouldn't go for it. But five thousand a piece was a lot of scratch.

"All we have to do is take this... thing from some lady?" Penn asked.

"How you do it is up to you," the wise guy said. "You'll get further instructions later. We'll rendezvous up in Philly and make the switch."

"Risk?" Penn asked.

"Minimal."

"What about the lady?" Penn asked, halfway concerned for her well-being after the whole ordeal was over.

"Of no consequence," the wise guy said, shaking his head.

As was his nature, Penn was still skeptical, to say the least. The wise guy said low risk, but this was nothing compared to the bank and casino heists he was used to be masterminding.

"What if I need to get a hold of you?" Penn asked. He didn't expect much more of a response than if he had asked Teller the same question.

"You'll get that information later."

The wise guy stood up and put three bucks down on the table, despite having not ordered anything.

"If you take the rental car," he said, "I'll know you're in."

With that sentiment, he left.


	4. Chapter 4

Penn returned to the hotel room with some breakfast for Teller. The wise guy was right — Teller was still asleep. Hell, he hadn't even moved. As Penn sat the black plastic to-go box on the yellowing tiled counter, his thoughts flashed back to the wise guy’s remark about Teller — particularly the bit about his only keeping Penn around to act at a work mule. Penn shook his head, trying to get the voice out of his mind. He bought breakfast with the poker money, which was gained by both of them — in fact, Teller did most of the work. The whole conversation made Penn feel dirty. With a sudden urge to shower, he took off his jacket and hung it over the chair in the corner of the room. Even as he sought to cleanse himself from the morning's encounter, there was an itch somewhere in the back of his mind; some sick desire to pick up the car from the airport and take the cash. Five grand was a lot of money — more than he made in a month at times. He looked back over at Teller, the sandy blond mess of hair pushed down over his forehead. Penn always thought it was strange how different Teller looked when he wasn't wearing his suit. He didn't look much like Teller at all, actually. Penn imagined the same could have been said about himself, but whenever he look in the mirror, he always just saw the same old Penn looking right back.

Penn emptied out all of his pockets and put everything in a not-so-small pile on the counter. Once he was certain that he'd removed everything from all twenty-or-so pockets, he took a duplicate suit (they both had four identical suits) from his bag and hung it on the bathroom door. After a quick shower, he dressed, awkwardly fumbling with his tie, not wanting to wake Teller just to ask him for help. As he crammed everything back into his pockets and replaced his jewelry, he noticed that his nail polish was starting to flake. He dug his remover and a small bottle of bright red polish from his hygiene kit and did a hurried fix job. He quickly styled his hair, pulling it back into a braid and scribbled out a note for Teller, leaving it next to the to-go box before taking the key and his bags out the door.

 

Teller awoke to something that had never happened before. The lights were all on, but Penn, and all of his stuff, was gone. Already beginning to panic, he wildly looked around the room for any sign of his partner. Penn wouldn't just skip out on him, would he?

Teller soon noticed the black to-go box and the note on the counter. He bounded out of bed, almost falling on his face as he tripped over the frame at the foot of the bed, and snatched up the note from the counter. It was definitely Penn's scribble.

 

Went to pick up the car. Brought you breakfast. Be back before checkout.

 

Teller let out a small sigh of relief as he tossed the note aside and looked over at the clock. Check out was in a little over twenty minutes. Scrambling, Teller quickly showered and put on a clean suit, taking almost five minutes to move everything he held in his pockets. With only minutes to checkout, he opened the to-go box, expecting to find something weird. But out of typical Penn fashion, breakfast was a perfectly normal dish of waffles and scrambled eggs. It was far past room temperature by this point, but Teller didn't mind. He unwrapped the plastic-ware and started in on the meal. Half panicked, half out of regular habit, Teller barely took the time to chew the eggs. He'd just started on the waffles when Penn flung the door open.

"Let's go!" Penn said before dashing up to the office.

Teller snapped the to-go box closed and picked up his bags. He rushed out the door to the parking lot, unable to shut off the lights in the room. Penn had brought back a small bright red ORV, and had somehow managed to cram all of their gear and checked baggage into the back, leaving just enough room for Teller's personal luggage behind the front seat. Teller put his stuff on the cold cement and leaned against the truck. While waiting for Penn to return and unlock the truck, Teller started on the waffles from the to-go box. Penn walked around the corner from the office a few seconds later, and on the way around to the other side of the truck, took the fork from Teller's hand. He took a generous bite of Teller's breakfast and gave the fork back to his partner.

"Put your tie on," Penn said. "You're half of Penn & Teller."

Teller put the box down on the hood of the truck and grudgingly dug one of his ties out of his bag. He quickly tied it like a noose and mock hung himself, making sure Penn saw.

"Get in the goddamn car," Penn said, less than amused. He opened the driver's side door and climbed into the truck.

Teller quickly tied his tie proper and stuffed his bags behind the seat. Snatching his breakfast from the hood of the truck, he climbed into the passenger seat. Just knowing that he'd be stuck in this very small space with Penn for the next twelve hours made his head swim. Long car rides were bad enough without having to be shared with anybody, but Teller knew it was best to not argue with Penn.

"Nice ride, huh?" Penn asked as he revved the engine.

Teller rolled his eyes and looked out the side window.

"Oh, shut up," Penn said. "It was this or some damned Ranch Wagon."

Knowing it would be easier on both of them if he stopped trying to pick a fight, Teller finished his breakfast. Penn had done something nice for him, for which he was grateful, but eggs and waffles only went so far on a drive to Manhattan.

"I hope you're ready to play navigator," Penn said as he merged onto the interstate.

Teller sat his to-go box on the floor by his feet and opened the glove compartment. Sitting neatly on top of the road maps was a white envelope with "PENN" scrawled on the front in thick block letters. Teller picked up the unsealed envelope and opened it, finding a folded piece of yellow legal-pad paper just waiting to be read.

 

If you're reading this, it's clear you've agreed to the deal. Hotel arrangements have been made. You'll be staying across from the Plaza. The room is in your friend's name. Someone will meet up with you in Manhattan with the rest of the details.

 

Not sure if it was some sort of joke, Teller had to read over it twice. It was clear Penn was deliberately going behind Teller's back with some unwise business deal — the car, the breakfast, waking up alone; all of it slid firmly into place. Trying to keep his cool, Teller tapped on Penn's arm and held up the note for him to see.

"What?" Penn asked as he looked over at his partner.

Teller was biting his bottom lip so hard, Penn was sure he was about to start bleeding.

"Oh," Penn said flatly. "I was gonna tell you about that... later."

Teller threw the note on the floor and crossed his arms tightly across his arms against his chest.

"We just gotta take— get... something and take it to Philly with us," Penn tried to reassure. "He's paying us ten thousand dollars."

Teller's jaw dropped at Penn's statement. For a moment, Penn thought it was because of the amount of money, but it was soon clear that he had only managed to strike a completely different nerve with Teller. Teller violently clicked on the radio and turned his back to Penn, looking out the side window.

"What about the directions?" Penn asked stupidly.

Teller yanked the map out of the glove box and threw it at Penn, hitting him in the side of the face. In one final act of defiance, Teller ripped off his tie and threw it into the back seat before cranking the volume on Bob Dylan and turning back to the window.

Penn never knew what to do when Teller got into one of his moods, and this was no exception. It was bad enough that he could never have a proper conversation with his partner, but it was the absolute worst when Teller would ignore him entirely.

Teller sighed deeply and leaned his head against the cold window. Slowly creeping in on being angry, Teller was also finding himself hurt and confused. Penn turned down the radio so he could talk.

"Listen, man," Penn said, trying to save himself.

Teller didn't even blink.

"The guy just brought this up this morning," Penn continued. "He woke me up so he could talk about it."

Still no response from Teller.

"All we gotta do is get this thing from this lady and take it to Philly on the way to your mom's."

Teller shifted slightly, like he was going to look at Penn, but changed his mind at the last second.

"And for this," Penn went on, "he's going to give us five thousand dollars. Each! That's a lot of scratch, man."

Teller exhaled sharply. He shut the glove box and turned to look at Penn. He knew there was more to this story that Penn was still keeping from him.

"Okay, it might be kinda hard," Penn admitted finally. "I guess she stole it or something, and this guy wants it back," he said quickly, as though it was a throw-away. "Bad break up or something. I didn't ask. Apparently this guy saw us in the airport last night and thinks it would be easy for you to pull off or something. Easy money, man. More than we make in a month. Hell, two months!"

Teller sighed and held out his hand for the map. Penn handed it over and Teller unfolded it and started to gather his bearings. He plucked a pencil from somewhere in the depths of his jacket and began tracing the route they'd take to Manhattan.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Twenty minutes outside of Manhattan, Teller jabbed at Penn's arm. Teller was driving now, allowing Penn to get some sleep. Penn jumped slightly before groping for the map.

"Oh, uh... where are we?" he mumbled to himself. He took a few moments to find his bearings and looked down at the map.

"Okay," he said finally, convinced he knew where they were. "You're gonna take the next exit. I think." He looked out the window, hoping to spot a sign somewhere that would tell him where they were. "Yeah," he said. "Next exit."

Teller did as instructed, and immediately found himself stuck in traffic. He looked over at Penn, irritated with the situation.

"It's not my fault," Penn pleaded. "It just means that we're getting close."

They found their way into the city, not without taking a wrong turn and missing an exit, causing them to have to take the George Washington Bridge and double back to Midtown by taking Broadway more that half the length of the island.

Their hotel was on 50th Avenue, kitty corner from the north end of Rockefeller Plaza.

"I think," Penn said, studying the map, "that when we go to Philly, we should take the Holland Tunnel to Interstate 78 and—" He looked up at Teller, who was less than amused with the prospect. "Or we could hop a cab to LaGuardia and fly," Penn suggested. He put the map back in the glove box as Teller pulled up to the Valet.

"Should we have our gear sent across the street?" Penn asked.

Teller looked at the back of the truck as he stepped out on to the snowy pavement. After a few moments on contemplation, he nodded.

"Yeah, good idea," Penn said.

Penn pulled a twenty from his walled and said something to the Valet. He pointed up to Rockefeller Centre, towering over the bustling street, as though it was the valet's first day in the city. While Penn gave instructions to the valet, Teller opened the back-seat door of the truck and lugged their bags out, letting them drop to the ground. At once, a young zit-faced kid rushed up to help Teller with their luggage. He tried to be smooth as he picked up Teller's over-sized duffel bag, but almost broke his back from the weight. Teller sighed and shook his head, almost effortlessly slinging the large strap over his shoulder. He picked up Penn's bag in both hands and stepped over to his partner.

"Thank you, Teller," Penn said as he took his bag.

They walked into the crystal and gold lobby of the hotel, slowing their gait to take in their surroundings.

"Good thing the room's already paid for," Penn said in Teller's ear.

Teller snorted out a small laugh. They approached the counter, both dropping their bags at the same time with a loud THUD!

"Can I help you gentlemen?" the clerk said, slightly startled.

"Uh, yeah," Penn said, taking a handful of candy that was in a dish by the clerk. "Room under the name of 'Teller'."

The clerk tried to stop Penn from taking so much candy, but wasn't sure how the giant of a man would react.

"First name, please," The clerk said instead.

"No." Penn shook his head. "Just 'Teller'. T-E-L-L-E-R." He tapped Teller's arm. "Show the man your license."

Teller dug out his wallet from inside his jacket and slid his driver's license across the counter. As the clerk tried to figure out what "NFN Teller" was supposed to mean, Teller reach over and took a handful of candy for himself, effectively emptying the dish.

"Okay," The clerk said slowly, certain he was being put on. Nonetheless, he punched away at the computer's keyboard.

"Oh," he said finally. "We have you in one of our suites." He said it as thought it was the last thing he expected to see on his computer screen. He handed Teller two keys along with his driver's license. "Geoffrey will show you to your room. Would you like help with your bags?"

Penn looked down at Teller, both exchanging evil smiles.

"Sure," Penn said. "Teller, let the man take your bag."

Teller shrugged and handed his bag to the young bellhop. The kid took the bag and almost fell over at once from the weight.

"How much does that thing weigh?" Penn asked with a giggle.

Teller shrugged and popped a peppermint into his mouth.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

"Here you are, sirs," Geoffrey said as he opened the door to the room. He bent to pick up Teller's bag, trying to hide his struggling. Teller absently took it from him and slung it over his shoulder as he walked into the suite. It was a far step up from what they were used to seeing. It was more of an Upper West Side apartment than it was a hotel room.

"There's only one bed," Penn said flatly.

Geoffrey pointed to a door to their left. "The other bed is in there," he said.

"You mean we get our own rooms?" Penn asked with the excitement of a small child. "All right."

Teller dropped his bag near one of the windows and opened the curtain. Thirty-four floors below, the crowded street looked more like a festive lighting display.

"I'll flip you for the other room," Pen said, waving Geoffrey away with a twenty note. Teller eagerly pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and prepared to flip it. He waited for Geoffrey to shut the door and tossed it high into the air.

"Tails!" Pen shouted as the coin arched above their heads. Teller snatched it from the air and slapped it down on the back of his hand. It had landed heads. He put it back in his pocket and smugly took his bag to the other room.

"That was a trick coin, wasn't it?" Penn demanded. "Answer me, goddamn it."

Teller didn't even look back.

Penn began unpacking, only because he knew they'd be staying for longer than two days. Their show wasn't actually for another week, and they were expected to make every rehearsal over the course of the week. He tossed his dirty clothes — the bulk of what he had packed — onto the bed, realizing that he was wearing his last clean suit.

"You think they have a washroom here?" he wondered aloud.

Teller stepped into the door frame and scratched his head. He raised his finger into the air, as though he had some brilliant idea, but changed his mind and scratched his head instead.

"Good idea," Penn said. "I'll call the front desk."

Teller went back to his own unpacking as Penn picked up the telephone.


	5. Chapter 5

Shortly after they checked in, a package had been sent up to their suite. It was addressed to have come from across the street, and upon opening it, Penn found a VHS tape with several recent episodes of Saturday Night Live, the show they were scheduled to do the next weekend. While Penn called down for laundry service to have their suits cleaned and pressed — something they'd never have done if they were paying for their own room service — he also inquired about having a VCR sent up to the suite. By the time it was delivered, both Penn and Teller had changed out of their suits and into their own respective versions of what pajamas were supposed to be — Teller in a plain T-shirt and flannel trousers, and Penn in a Velvet Underground shirt and a pair of sweats.

"I'm hungry," Penn said from his bed, turning down the volume on the Saturday Night Live tape. "You hungry?"

Teller looked up from the New York Times crossword and nodded. He had moved the small table over next to the windows so he could watch the street below while he worked on the crossword. Penn picked up the room service menu from the night stand and tossed it over to Teller. Teller put a small mark next to what he wanted with his ballpoint and tossed it back to Penn. As Penn reached for the telephone, there was a loud knock at the door. Both Penn and Teller froze and looked over at one another.

"Whoa," Penn said quietly. "Creepy."

He got up from his place on the bed and opened the door to find another wise guy, this one wearing leather in favor of a suit jacket, standing in the hall.

"I thought you boys might be hungry, so I brought you some Chinese," he said as he invited himself into the suite. He sat the paper bag filled with bento boxes on the table in front of Teller and sat down.

Teller cautiously reached into the bag and pulled out the boxes, one by one, half expecting to find something unpleasant in one or more of them.

"It's my understanding that you already spoke with Mickey," the wise guy said. It was directed at Teller, as though he had enough information on them to know that only one of them would talk, but like many who had only seen them once or twice had them mixed up.

"Yeah," Penn said, stepping over to the table. "But he was a little sketchy on some of the details. Maybe you can clear some of this stuff up."

Teller offered Penn an egg roll, which he eagerly accepted.

"Thank you, Teller," he said absently.

"It's really simple," the wise guy said, picked a water chestnut from one of the bento boxes and sticking it in his mouth. "This broad what's gonna be on the show next Monday is going to be wearing a necklace that belongs to her uncle. I work for her uncle, and he wants it back, you see?"

"We're leaving early Sunday morning," Penn reminded him.

"Letterman's dark on Fridays. She's gonna be there for some sort of rehearsal or something. What ever you showbiz people do. If I'm not mistaken, you have a rehearsal on Friday, too."

Penn looked down at Teller, who was going through his chow mien a little too quickly. Penn bapped him on the side of the head.

"Chew your food," he said flatly. He turned his attention back to their guest. "Listen, uhh..."

"Tommy," the wise guy said.

"Tommy," Penn confirmed. "It just seems a little risky is all. We're supposed to be working with Lorne, not David. Won't someone notice if we're where we're not supposed to be?"

"Doing the weekend show is like a free pass to wander the building," Tommy said. "Mickey has faith in your abilities, so I have faith in your abilities."

Teller tapped on Penn's arm and shook his head. Something didn't quite mesh right, and Teller could see it.

"My partner doesn't seem convinced," Penn said. He had an idea about what was bothering Teller. "So, we take this thing on Friday, and hold onto it until Sunday when we leave?" he asked, looking down at Teller to make sure he understood properly.

Teller nodded slowly. Tommy took something else from one of the bento boxes and ate it.

"No one's in that studio all weekend. They won't notice until you're gone," he assured. He looked across the table to Teller, who still wasn't convinced. "You boys realize there's no backing out at this point? My boss paid for your car as well as this wonderful room, so he expects something in return."

Tommy stood up and walked to the door. He opened it and stood half way in the hallway, ready to leave.

"He's even willing to overlook the eight suits you sent down to laundry today."

Penn and Teller looked at one another, spooked that they'd already found out about that. Tommy walked out of the room, leaving the two of them alone with their cheap Chinese dinner.


	6. Monday

"Feels good to be in clean clothes, doesn't it?" Penn asked.

Teller nodded, stuffing a chain of tied, brightly coloured silks up his left sleeve.

"Look at that," Penn mused, admiring the creases in his trousers. "We are two respectable looking magicians."

Teller tousled his own hair with this fingertips, trying to decide if he should get it cut for their show on Saturday. He looked up at Penn for the final verdict.

"A haircut definitely wouldn't hurt," he said, pulling his own hair back into a pony tail. "On both our parts, actually." He adjusted his forelock, which was getting much too much too long. "We'll do it tomorrow."

Teller agreed by simply nodding as he checked to make sure everything was in its proper pocket, moving a series of items around — among the odd was a large blood packet, a plastic sandwich bag full of mouse food, and a black and violet Devil's Handkerchief. He produced a large black metal cane with his left hand, and twirled it once in his fingers before folding it back up and putting it in his right-hand pocket. Penn chuckled.

"That damn thing scares the bejesus out of me every time."

Teller cocked his head to one side as he adjusted his tie once more, making sure it was straight. Once finished, he reached up and fixed Penn's tie for him.

"Ready?" Penn asked.

Teller picked up the room keys and handed one to Penn as he followed him out into the hall. Their first meeting with Lorne was in a half hour, but they wanted to be a little early. They took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out onto the busy sidewalk. The clouds above were an almost graphite shade of grey, but it didn't feel cold enough to snow. They briskly walked across the street, and even though they'd been there before, felt giddy as they entered the main doors of Rockefeller Center.

"Stand up straight," Penn said quietly. "We want to make a good impression."

Teller did as he was told. They walked up to the main desk, where the clerk was busy reading the latest issue of Cosmo.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" she asked when she saw them approach.

"Yeah," Penn said. "We have a meeting with Lorne Michaels."

The clerk put down her magazine. "And your names, please?" she asked as she slid over to her computer.

"Penn Jillette — that's two N's in Penn and Jillette with a J. Not a G — and Teller. Just one word, there. T-E-L-L-E-R," Penn said. Teller simply nodded.

The clerk ticked away at the keyboard, careful as to not disturb her manicure, and pulled out two visitor's passes.

"He's up on the ninth floor," she said as she handed them each a pass. "You'll want to wear those where they can easily been seen."

Penn thanked her before they walked over to the elevator.

"Left side," Penn said when he noticed Teller messing around with his badge. "It'll look better if we both match."

Teller moved the badge over to his left lapel, checking Penn's positioning to make sure they matched as closely as possible. They stepped into the elevator and took the quick ride up to the ninth floor. They stepped off and entered a completely different world. The calm elegance of 30 Rock was replaced with burnt out fluorescent lights, holes in the plaster walls, and Bruce Springsteen being blasted from behind one of the many doors that lined the hall. Penn suddenly felt very out of place in his freshly-pressed three-piece business suit and neat little pony tail.

An office door opened, and a tall blonde in a light blue skirt and white shirt stepped out backwards into the hall.

"Thanks!" she said as she shut the door.

She turned around and walked right into Teller. Teller reeled back into Penn, dropping a Bounce/No Bounce ball out of his hand. It bounced once off of the tile floor before rolling into the wall. Penn bent down to pick it up.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. She looked at the two of them, both looking incredibly lost standing in the middle of the hall in matching suits. "Who are you?" she asked. Her voice was very high pitched, like some sort of cartoon bird.

"We have a meeting with Lorne Michaels," Penn said hesitantly. He handed the ball back to Teller. "But I'm not so sure we're in the right place."

"Oh, sure!" the blonde said. "You must be those magicians. I've heard about you. Come on, I'll take you to his office."

She waved them along as she walked down the tiled hall.

"So, what kinds of things do you guys do?" their host asked.

Teller reached up behind her ear and pulled out a small grey mouse. The young actress screamed in terror and jumped backwards into Penn's arms.

"Teller!" Penn scolded. "Put that thing away!"

Teller pet the mouse a few times before pulling a large match box from his pocket and returning the mouse to his home.

"I'm sorry," Penn said. "He doesn't always think about thing when he's trying to impress people."

Still shaken, the actress began leading them down the hall again.

"So," she said, trying to forget about the mouse. "He's Teller," she pointed to Teller, "so you must be Penn."

Penn nodded. "Yep."

"I'm Victoria," she said informally. "I just started here, and it's been a real nightmare getting any parts. I just had to bribe the writers to give me a part."

Penn laughed and shook his head. "Well," he started, "we've been doing this for about ten years now, and we're just now starting to make it onto Television."

"Wow," Victoria said, turning down another hallway. "Ten years of scaring people with mice." She shot Teller a look of pure venom. "What do you have planned for Saturday? Snakes?"

Penn and Teller exchanged enlightened glances behind Victoria's back.

"Well, this is it," Victoria said, stopping at a door with a torn paper star crookedly taped just off centre. She knocked on the door. "I guess I'll see you around."

She smiled at Penn and looked nervously at Teller. Teller grinned sheepishly and produced a small bouquet of silk flowers. He handed them to Victoria as Lorne opened the door.

"You must be Penn & Teller," Lorne said, inviting them into his office.

As they stepped inside, Teller cast a glance back at Victoria. She was already half way down the hall.

"Forget it, man," Penn said in his ear. "You just scared her with a mouse. You don't have a chance in hell."

Teller rolled his eyes.

Lorne motioned for them to sit in front of his desk and held out a large plastic bowl.

"Popcorn?" he offered.

Teller took a handful. Penn declined.

"So, tell me," Lorne said, taking a handful of popcorn for himself. "What do you guys have planned for us this weekend?"

"Well, it goes like this," Penn said. "We put Teller here—" he clapped Teller on the back "—into a large water tank — of course, it's locked and he's holding his breath — and we don't let him out until I find a selected card."

Lorne seemed mildly interested.

"But I don't find the card," Penn said, cackling like the Wicked Witch. "I fuck it up, and Teller drowns in the tank."

Teller nodded, smiling tacitly.

"Not for real, of course," Penn assured. "The audience here will know that, but the home audience will think that something's gone terribly wrong."

Penn and Teller were both enjoying the idea far too much to be healthy, but Lorne was unsure to say the least.

"So," Lorne started, "we let millions of people think that someone's died on live television?"

"Yeah!" Penn said. "That's the idea at least."

"And you have this all worked out and everything?"

"Well," Penn said. "In theory."

Lorne put the popcorn bowl down on his desk and leaned forward. "In... 'In theory'? What's that supposed to mean? You've never actually done the trick?"

"Well, no," Penn admitted.

"Where's this death-trap water tank?" Lorne asked. "I didn't see them bring it in with the rest of your stuff last night."

"We're gonna check it out tomorrow," Penn said.

Teller nodded.

"Something is just a little..." Lorne stammered. "Well, it makes me uncomfortable. Why don't you let me see it once or twice and I'll see how I like it."

Penn nodded. "Sure thing, boss," he said. "I just know you're gonna love it!"

Lorne stood up and opened his office door. "You should come in Wednesday so we can mark your places," he said as Penn and Teller stood up from their chairs. "Just hold on to your little badges until after the show on Saturday."

"Okay," Penn said as he stepped out into the hall. No sooner had he crossed the threshold had a small pale-faced man with a wild mess of curly hair run right into him.

"Holy Mary mother of Jesus!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know we were booking Sasquach for appearances!"

Teller tried to stifle a laugh, but Penn heard. He made to slug Teller, but pulled back at the last moment.

"Gilbert," Lorne said, unamused. "Get the hell out of here."

Penn could see that Gilbert wanted to say something, but he held it back as he continued on his path.

"I trust that you can find your way back out?" Lorne asked.

Penn looked around. "Yeah," he said confidently.

"See you Wednesday," Lorne said.

He shut the door before he even finished the sentence.


	7. Tuesday

The water tank was being built in a small theatre on E 52d street, just a few blocks west of the hotel. Penn and Teller got up as early as a couple of night owls could hope and walked down to the theatre.

The crew working on the tank had everything set up in one of the shop rooms behind the stage. Penn and Teller were lead through the house to the backstage area by a holier-than-thou techie. As they crossed the sawdust-covered stage, Teller slowed his gait, examining the theatre's wing space and rigging. The wings were average for a theatre of its size, but the fly space was phenomenal. In the back of his mind, he began devising ways to put the space to good use. In the distance, he could hear a few techies laughing at him; surely they thought he was some bigwig here on a tour.

The tank itself looked like the bizarre love child of a telephone booth and a post-modern piece of art. It was built of welded steel and safety glass, and had cross-hatched bars in place of a lid to keep Teller from getting to any air at the surface.

"This is great," Penn said slowly. He slapped his hand on the glass. "Let's try her out!"

Teller took off his jacket and absently passed it off to a techie standing near by. The unfortunate putz laughed along with the other techies until he took the jacket, which felt like it was lined in lead, it was so heavy.

Teller climbed up the ladder against the empty tank and slowly lowered himself into his would-be under-water coffin of doom. The techies around him continued to guffaw and mock, but he was so lost in his own universe that he didn't even have to ignore them. He reached up to shut the lid, but his fingers barely passed over the edge of the tank.

"It might work better with water in it," Penn suggested.

Teller nodded and with not a little difficulty, hoisted himself out of the tank.

"Why didn't you help him?" one of the techies sneered as Teller stepped off the ladder.

"Why didn't you?" Penn asked, effectively silencing the laughter from the techies, if only for a few moments.

Teller tapped on Penn's arm. Penn bent over slightly to allow Teller to whisper a quick something in his ear.

"Yeah?" Penn asked.

Teller nodded.

"Okay," Penn said to the techies. "Fill her up."

The techies exchanged nervous glances before one of them finally left to get the hose. As the tank filled, Teller stripped down to his undershirt and boxer-shorts; it didn't make sense to soggy up his suit just for a test. He handed everything of to Penn before climbing the ladder once more. The mocking laughter began to taper off as he lowered himself — this time with much greater ease — into the tank. It was now very clear to the techies that this guy was for real.

Teller took a deep breath and submerged himself beneath the water, which was icy cold — Teller made a mental note to have Penn make sure warmer water was used for the show. Already his lungs were cramping up on him. He resurfaced long enough to close the lid over himself, a task that was indeed much easier to accomplish now that the tank was filled with water. He reached up through the bars to prove to himself that his hand could fit. Once convinced, he tapped on the lid. As Penn opened it for him, Teller pulled himself above the surface and held on to the edge of the tank.

"Should we try the lock?" Penn asked.

Teller nodded eagerly.

"Lock?" the techie holding Teller's jacket asked.

Penn ignored the stupid remark and pulled a SCUBA mask from inside his jacket and handed it to his partner. Teller slid the mask over his face and once more submitted himself to his icy, under-water habitat. Penn shut the lid over his head and flipped the hasp down over the loop. This enough would be able to keep Teller in the tank, but Penn secured it from anyone getting in with a small lock. He made sure it was secure and took a few cautious steps away from the tank.

"How you doing in there?" Penn asked, loud enough so Teller might be able to hear.

Teller held the tip of his index finger to the tip of his thumb, making the SCUBA diver's international signal for "OK." He tried to push himself up to the surface, but the bars were working perfectly. Teller felt he could easily sit rather comfortably in the tank for at least ten minutes, if not more.

Penn unlocked the tank and allowed Teller to climb back out to dry land. As soon as Teller resurfaced, he took off the mask and brushed his hair off of his forehead. He handed the mask to Penn and pulled himself up to the ladder — also much easier with water in the tank.

That gonna work for you?" Penn asked as he pulled a towel from a small black bag. Teller nodded as he took the towel and began to dry and dress himself.

"How long's he supposed to be in that thing for?" one of the techies asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

Penn slowly walked around the tank, examining the corners for leaks.

"About six or seven minutes," he said. "But I think if he needed to, he could go as long as ten."

The techies watched nervously as Penn circled the tank, noting each of the carefully hidden safety mechanisms.

"What if something goes wrong?" one of them stammered.

"Well, that depends," Penn said absently, playing with the lid. "Any number of things could happen. I could screw up and miss the card, the lock could get jammed, the trick could go too long. But it the tank itself fails, that will all be on you." He closed the lid and flipped down the hasp. "Real nice," he said to himself. He slapped the glass. "So," he said, back to his cheery self. "Take this thing over to the NBC building and have it sent up to Studio 8H. Looks real good, guys."

Teller finished dressing and tied his shoes, as though this was a perfectly normal way to spend the afternoon. He stood up and walked over to join Penn, handing him the towel.

"This is gonna be great," Penn said as he crammed the towel back into the bag. Teller took his jacket back from the techie and nodded.

"You ready?" Penn asked once Teller was fully dressed.

Teller nodded.

"Let's go get those hair cuts," Penn said.

They walked out of the theatre, smiling proudly. Even in the off chance that something did go wrong, a couple of idiots screwing up a thrown-together trick on national television was still good TV.


	8. Chapter 8

They went back to Times Square where they found a small barber shop. As they entered the small, fluorescent-lit room, they each hung their jackets on the coat hooks by the door and sat in the waiting area near the windows.

"Both of you, or just one?" a white-haired man by the register asked.

"Both," Penn responded.

The man nodded once and stood up. He slowly walked over to a door in the back of the room and swung it open, revealing an old wooden stairwell to the basement.

"Hey!" he called. "You guys get up here!" He walked back to the register and sat down. "Be just a minute," he said, picking up a copy of the Post.

The door opened, and two guys about Penn's age wearing white aprons walked into the room. Penn and Teller both stood up and sat where they were told. As the barbers readied their gear, Penn took off his glasses and Teller loosened his tie.

"Just kinda clean this mess up," Penn said, loosening his own tie.

"What about you?" Teller's counterpart asked, holding his scissors at the ready.

"He'll have the same," Penn said off-handedly.

As the gentlemen in white aprons tried to figure out what they were doing, Teller pulled a Snickers bar from his pocket and tore into the wrapper.

"Where did you get that?" Penn asked, his voice laced with an amused laughter.

Teller offered him a chunk of the chocolaty goodness.

"Thank you, Teller," Penn said as he took the half of the bar offered to him.

Not wanting to just toss the wrapper away, Teller hammed it up — as was typical Teller fashion — and crammed the crumpled wrapper into his clenched fist. He opened both hands, effectively vanishing the wrapper. Penn started laughing so hard that he almost choked on the Snickers bar.

"Now, you see," A familiar Brooklyn accent said from just outside of Penn's line of sight. "That's what I'm talking about."

Tommy closed the door that lead to the basement and stepped close to Penn, placing a hand on the magician's shoulder.

"What do you mean?" Penn asked, wanting to play dumb for the mixed company.

"Don't play stupid with me," Tommy snarled.

Penn suddenly realized that they'd chosen the wrong damn place to get their hair cuts.

"Oh, yeah," Penn said. "He does flashy shit like that, and no one will suspect us."

Teller sank into his seat enough to make the barber raise it a few inches. Penn tried to assure his partner that everything was fine, but didn't want to make any movements that might seem unnatural. The thought of a wise guy behind the both of them with a deadly weapon — even if it was just a pair of scissors — was not a pleasant thought. He wanted to keep Teller moderately calm, for fear that he would do something stupid and impulsive that would get them both hurt.

"Just take it easy, man," Penn said quietly, reaching out and tapping Teller's arm.

Teller flashed him a glance, but did not want to look in Tommy's direction any longer than absolutely necessary.

"What's up with him?" Penn's barber asked. "Don't he talk?"

"No," Penn said, matter-of-factly. "He doesn't."

Tommy slowly walked the length of the small linoleum-tiled room. Both Penn and Teller flinched as Tommy passed behind them.

"You two are really starting to make me nervous," Tommy said as he neared the front door. "But if you want to make some money — and stay healthy — there are opportunities all around you."

"Listen, man," Penn said. "Don't worry about us. We've got it covered."

Tommy pushed the door open, but didn't step outside just yet.

"I know where you'll be until Sunday," he said. "If I don't hear good news from you by then, I'll assume the worst, and have you taken care of. Mickey won't be happy, and I sure as hell don't want to have to get the damn thing myself." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. "The haircuts are on me. We wouldn't want you to look bad on your big break." He lit a cigarette and walked out onto the street.


	9. Wednesday

Teller walked across the street to 30 Rock about an hour before Penn had even woken up. Rehearsal wasn't until about 11.0a, but Teller wanted to wander the building — something they weren't allowed to do when they were guests on Late Night in previous months. He found the commissary on the seventh floor quite by accident, but decided that it was worth a gander. There was a small quasi-buffet table along one of the walls, and vending machines along another. Teller glanced back toward the kitchens, and noticing no one that would give him grief, he walked over to the buffet table. There was a section with fresh vegetables first. Teller copped a few carrots and pocketed them. Using an English muffin, he made himself a haphazard sandwich and left. 

On the eighth floor, he found the SNL studio. It was open, but only lit with the safety lights in the aisles and backstage. He slowly wandered through the set, awestruck by the size. On television, it looked big, but it was never made apparent that the studio itself was actually two stories high. Up on the stage, techies had already begun spiking out the different acts, each with a separate colour of tape. After some time, he managed to find their mark; bright green on the smaller stage. Four small L's had been placed to represent the corners of the tank, and in the centre, "PEN & TELLER" had been written on a strip of green gaffer's tape. Teller stood in the box and look out into the house, taking a bite of his pathetic breakfast. Even now, with the house empty and almost completely dark, it was an intimidating sight. Letterman's set only sat 200 people in a rather cramped house. 8H had to have been able to hold at least twice Letterman's crowd.

After finishing his sandwich, Teller left the studio and went back out to the hallway. A few doors down, he found a large prop room that was filled with all sorts of brick-a-brack. In the back, costume racks were lined up three or four deep. The props were mostly stacked along shelves that lined the walls or in boxes on the floor. Teller recognized a box of "Halloween Costumes" from a sketch in the 70's with Dan Aykroyd. Propped up a the corner was a cheap foam rubber shark costume and an old Samurai kimono. There were also props from other shows in the room as well. A few David Letterman mugs sat on one of the shelves, and even some Today Show and Parr era Tonight Show gear was sprinkled here and there. As Teller nosed through the boxes, he found a large pair of poultry shears. What business they had in a box full of clothes pins of various sizes, Teller didn't know. He pocketed the shears anyway.

As he dug poked through a box of children's toys, he heard the door open behind him.

"Who's in here?"

Teller turned around to see Victoria stepping into the room. He smiled warmly before moving to the costume rack.

"Oh, it's... you," Victoria said nervously as she started looking up at the shelves. "Where's your friend?"

Teller shrugged as he looked at the costumes on the racks. Several pairs of plaid trousers forced a small laugh from him.

"Well," Victoria said. "I hope he knows that Mr. Michaels wants everyone at the meeting at eleven."

Teller nodded, but Victoria was too busy looking through a box to see. They both continued to look through the room — Teller out of sheer curiosity and Victoria with intent — in silence for a few minutes.

"How does he do it?" Victoria asked, breaking the odd silence.

Teller stopped looking at the costumes and turned to face Victoria. He cocked his head to the right, trying to figure out what she meant.

"How do you two have a conversation about anything?"

Teller shrugged lightly, suggesting that he'd never given it much thought.

"He must have the patients of a saint," Victoria mused. She found what she'd been sent to fetch — an ugly purple shawl-like cloth — and put the box back where it belonged. "Well, come on," she said. "You probably should be in here alone."

She walked out of the prop room, Teller close at her heels. They went up to the ninth floor, where much of the staff had already gathered in a large "planning room" of sorts. Teller thought it more resembled the college dorms where he used to perform.

"Will this work?" Victoria asked, handing the cloth to one of the writers.

"That's perfect," he said.

Teller took a seat on a torn up sofa in the corner. A few of the staff members cast glances his direction, but most everyone else was too busy screwing around to even notice he was in the room. Teller took one of the carrot slices from his pocket and took a bite. It had a strange been-out-in-the-open-air-too-long texture that almost made Teller gag.

A few feet from where he was seated, Teller noticed an old microwave oven on a table. He went to the microwave and put the carrot slices on the plate and shut the door. He turned it on for a few seconds, picking up a few paper napkins as he let the carrots cook. He pocketed the napkins and took the carrots out of the microwave. They had give, but not too much. Pleased with how they had turned out, he threw a few remaining slices into what he could only assume to be the trash and sat back down on the sofa. As he watched the staff work, he casually moved props around from pocket to pocket. Once satisfied, he checked his watch for the time. Just before 10.0a. He stood up from his spot and walked back out to the hall. A few actors he recognized from the tape Lorne had sent them had begun to gather near a vending machine. One brunette — Julia, he thought was her name — caught his eye. He walked over to her, offering her a butterscotch candy from his pocket.

"Oh, thank you," Julia said, taking the candy. She unwrapped it. "You must be one of those magicians that are on this week."

Teller nodded. He suddenly realized that he was the only person on the floor wearing a suit.

"I think he's the one that can't talk," a short man with wild dark hair (Billy, Teller thought was his name) said. "I think that's why the other one is there, actually," Billy added.

Teller pretended not to notice Billy's comment. Instead, he started passing candy out to everyone.

"Hey" Billy said. "Can you do a trick for us or something?"

Teller handed him a peppermint, pretending to think about what trick to show them. He turned toward Julia and held up his thumb, as though hitching for a ride. He pulled one of the napkins from his pocket and loosely wrapped it around his hand.

"What is he doing?" Julia asked.

Billy shrugged.

Teller continued to ignore them. Instead, he grabbed Julia's hand and brought it up to his own, trying to get her to grab hold of his napkin-wrapped thumb. It took a few tires before she understood what she was supposed to be doing, but before she had time to ask why she was holding his thumb, Teller pulled out the poultry shears and lopped off his thumb, spurting blood all over Julia and the vending machine behind her. As he cut, he screamed in a mix of pain and terror. The cast members around him all shrieked, Julia especially, no one noticing Teller's scream turn into malicious laughter.

"Teller!" Penn shouted from down the hall.

Teller jumped slightly, dropping the palmed blood packet he held in his hand. He looked over to see Penn stomping toward him and immediately began stuffing everything back into his pockets. He tried to run away, but Penn caught up with him and grabbed him by the arm.

"Jesus the Jew!" Penn yelped when he saw the blood on the vending machine and the tiled floor. "What the hell did you do this time?"

Teller held his hands up and shook his head quickly, insisting he was innocent. Penn looked over at Julia, blood all over her cream-coloured jacket.

"Is that machine washable?" he asked.

Julia hesitantly nodded. "Yeah," she stammered, still trying to figure out what just happened.

Penn shot glances around the area. "Where's the make-up room?" he asked. "You're gonna want to get that out before it dries."

Julia looked around, as though she was lost. "On eight," she finally said.

Penn shoved Teller away and walked with Julia to the elevators.

The make-up room was directly behind the studio. It was long and narrow with mirrors and a long counter with several sinks lining one wall. Penn turned on the hot water in one of the sinks.

"Here," he said. "Gimmie your jacket."

Julia took off her jacket, quickly checking her pockets. As Penn took her jacket, he noticed that blood had gotten on her shirt as well.

"Oh," Penn said. He took off his jacket and handed it to Julia before turning his back to her. "Put that on. I'll wash your blouse, too."

She quickly exchanged her shirt for Penn's jacket. She felt like she was wearing an oversized circus tent. Penn rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and put Julia's shirt and jacket under the running water.

"Hot!" he hissed, quickly taking his hands out of the water. "Where's a can of hairspray?"

Julia took a can from one of the shelves and passed it to Penn.

"Why do you need hairspray?" she asked.

"Because it works," was all Penn replied.

He rung the shirt and jacket out and laid them out on the counter. Using about half of the can, he doused the stains with the harsh-smelling aerosol and rubbed his knuckles deep into the fabric. He worked on the stains for about five minutes each before returning them to the running water. The hairspray and blood rinse right off. He rung the shirt and jacket out once more and sat them back on the counter.

"Just throw 'em in the dryer and you'll be fine, he said with a smile.

"How does that work?" Julia asked.

Penn shrugged. "I have no idea," he said. "It just does." He handed the hairspray back to Julia. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with my partner." He emphasized the word "partner," speaking through clenched teeth.

Penn found Teller sitting at a small table in the men's dressing room, his own jacket hanging on a hook. The cuffs and left lapel were wet.

"Got it on yourself, didn't you?" Penn demanded.

Teller shrugged. He knew the hairspray trick too, so a little fake blood on his jacket didn't bother him much.

"You know," Penn said, standing over Teller. "I think if you want to show these guys some tricks, you should just stick to cards."

He slapped a deck of blue-backs on the table in front of Teller and turned to leave the room. Reluctantly, Teller picked up the pack and took the cards out of the box. He waited until Penn was almost out of the room before he held the deck up above the table with one hand and riffled through them, letting all 54 cards flutter across the room. Penn heard the riffle behind him, but ignored it.


	10. Chapter 10

Shortly after eleven, the entire cast and crew of Saturday Night Live had gathered in a large ninth floor conference room. The scheduled host, who was still a complete mystery to everyone on the crew, still hadn't stepped foot in the building, but Lorne couldn't delay the meeting any longer.

"Before we get too serious," Lorne said, bringing an instant silence to the room, "Madonna has confirmed her appearance for this week."

Many of the men in the room verbally approved the selected host for the week.

"Unfortunately," Lorne continued, "she can't even make it to New York until Thursday afternoon, so just do the best you can."

While the writers voiced their malcontent, Penn grabbed Teller by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him close so no one would overhear what he was about to say.

"Listen, pal," Penn said. "You better not even look at her wrong, or I'll make you wish you hadn't. Never mind the bodyguards she's bound to have with her."

Teller slowly nodded, fully aware of what would happen if he decided to do something mean to the Queen of Media Darlings.

"Also," Lorne said over the noise, once more bringing a silence to the room. "These two gentlemen, in case you don't know, are Penn and Teller —" A few people turned to see to whom Lorne was referring "—and I apologize to those who've already had the misfortune of meeting them. Yes, I've heard the stories, but please don't come bitching to me anymore."

Teller sank down into his seat and Penn shook his head.

"And," Lorne continued, "please don't touch their props. I normally wouldn't say that, but I just feel the need to emphasize that rule this week, as they're attempting a fairly risky stunt on Saturday. I don't want to have to actually use those medics the city makes me keep backstage."

The lack of response to what Penn thought was a joke made him nervous. The fact that they even had EMTs backstage to begin with suddenly make him nervous about attempting the trick.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

The meeting lasted about 90 minutes, during which the writers would go over the fine points of their scripts for the initial approval. Mostly a crew of men, the rundowns were loud and often visual. One writer even went as far as to jump up onto the table to demonstrate how he wanted a dance number to look. At the last second, Lorne vetoed the script, but gave no reason other than "it didn't fit."

After the meeting, Penn and Teller were lead down to an empty room on the 8th floor where all of their gear was being held. A few techies were waiting for them as well — techies Penn hoped would be around for the performance on Saturday. He looked around at each of the techies, memorizing their faces.

"First thing's first," he said. "The tank's gotta be filled." He looked down at Teller. "It was too cold last time, wasn't it?" he asked.

Teller nodded.

"Make sure the water's warm, but not hot," Penn added.

Teller wandered over to a table near the wall and took off his jacket. He laid it on the table and quickly checked his trousers pockets, making sure that nothing valuable would get wet.

"I want three successful runs of this thing today," Penn said. "This first one doesn't count since it's the first time we've ever even done this."

Teller climbed up onto the ladder that was next to the tank and waited for it to fill. As the water level slowly rose, he reached down into the tank to test the temperature. The action wasn't lost on Penn.

"That good?" Penn asked.

Teller shot him a thumbs-up and nodded.

"Good," Penn said.

Penn pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and started to shuffle through it.

"You guys haven't been told what we're doing yet, have you?" he asked the techies.

Several of them shook their heads.

"Good," Penn repeated. He pointed to the techie standing nearest to him. "You," he said. "Come here."

As Penn sized up the techie, Teller put his SCUBA mask on and climbed into the tank. Marc, the Penn & Teller Director of Covert Activities, closed the lid and passed the SCUBA regulator through the bars. After Teller got himself situated, Marc handed him a key with a large white tag with "TELLER" written across it in large black letters.

"We're not working with the lock today," Penn reminded Marc. "Not until we get this thing going the way it's supposed to."

"Right," Marc said, stepping away from the tank.

Penn turned back to the techie, still shuffling through the deck.

"What's your name, sir?" Penn asked.

"Tim," the techie replied.

"Well, Tim. What we're doing here is simple," Penn said. "It's a simple card trick, but with a little something riding on it." He pointed to Teller, who was calmly checking for grit under his fingernails. "What I want you to do right now," Penn continued, "is that the lock on the tank — it's not really there. Just pretend — and lock Teller in his under-water tank of doom."

Tim hesitantly did as told, feeling a bit stupid pretending to lock a lock that didn't exist.

"Now, Teller can't get out of the tank. He's sworn on his honor as a gentleman not to relinquish the key to the lock until these supremely skilled hands —" Penn held his hands up in front of his face "— find your selected card. Now, as you can see, Teller is breathing rather comfortably with the aid of the regulator, there. Just go ahead and rip that SCUBA regulator from his mouth, right there."

Tim looked at Marc, then to his co-workers. No one objected, so he pulled on the hose running through the bars of the tank, nervously taking away Teller's air supply.

"Great," Penn said. He fanned out the deck of cards and held them out in front of Tim. "Just go ahead and take any one of those cards there."

Tim snatched a card from the middle of the fan, a little more quick to act now that Teller was holding his breath under the water. Penn pulled a large magic marker from his pocket and handed it to Tim. He turned his back and Teller put his hand over his eyes, as though he could somehow aid Penn from inside the tank.

"Go ahead, Tim, and just write your name across the face — the side that's different from the rest — of the card."

Tim scribbled his name across the face and recapped the marker. He held the card behind his cupped hands, to keep Penn from seeing its value.

"Perfect," Penn said as he turned around. He took the marker back and cut the deck. "Just go ahead and put your card right there."

Tim put his card on top of the packet Penn held in his left hand. Penn squared the pack, false cut the cards, and palmed off the top card. He handed the cards to Tim.

"Tim, just go ahead and shuffle that deck thoroughly, unless you have a shred of human decency."

Tim shuffled the deck a few times and handed it back to Penn.

"Now, Tim," Penn said. "I know your first name, but what is your last name?"

"McFarland," Tim answered.

Penn nodded. "Hold out your hand for me, McFarland," he said.

Tim held his hand out in front of Penn. Penn dealt out the cards on to Tim's hand, spelling out Tim McFarland as he dealt. He turned over the last card for Tim to see.

"And is that your card, Tim? The Ten of Diamonds?"

Tim shook his head. "No." He glanced over at Teller, visibly starting to strain from being under water.

"Of course not," Penn said, looking at the card. The face was completely blank of any writing.

He dealt the cards out into Tim's hands once more, spelling out Tim McFarland once more.

"And is that your card, McFarland, the Jack of Spades?" Penn asked, flipping over the last card.

Tim chuckled nervously.

"No," he said.

"Okay," Penn said, throwing the card over his shoulder. "But I don't seem too worried about it, do I?"

Tim shook his head. "No, you do not."

Penn handed what was left of the deck of cards back to Tim and pulled a small sealed envelope from his pocket. He handed it to Tim.

"What is written on that envelope, Tim?"

Tim looked down at the envelope. "Nothing," he said.

Penn started to chuckle. "Other side, Tim," he instructed.

Tim turned the envelope over. "It says nine-fifteen AM."

Penn walked over to the tank and held on to the key in Teller's up stretched left hand.

"Tim, what I want you to do is open that envelope and say 'Yes, Penn. That's my card'," Penn instructed.

Tim tore into the envelope, pulling out a Queen of Diamonds with "Lawrence" written across the face in large black letters.

"Yes, Penn. That's my card. No it isn't." Tim said when he looked at the card.

Penn turned around on his heel to look at Tim. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"I said what you told me to say, but it's not my card," Tim pleaded. He showed the card with "Lawrence" on the face. "That's not my name."

Penn quickly stepped away from the tank and snatched the envelope from Tim's hand. "What?" he asked. He tore the envelope to shreds, as though expecting to find another card. "Damnit," he said, rushing over to the tank. He grabbed for the key in Teller's hand, but Teller ducked down to the bottom of the tank. "Damnit, Teller!" Penn shouted. "I palmed the wrong card!"

Teller shook his head and tried to shout something at Penn, but all that was heard was a garbled mess. Penn jumped up, reaching his hand into the water. Teller shook his head again.

"He's right," Penn said, shaking his hand dry. "We need to do this proper."

"What?" Tim demanded.

Penn held Tim's hand out and counted the cards out once more. "Is this your — no," he said as he flipped the card over. He soon gave up on trying to count the cards out and just started searching through what was left of the deck. "It's not in here, McFarland," Penn shouted. "It's on the floor. Look on the floor!"

Penn and Tim both dropped to their hands and knees and began crawling around. Behind them in the tank, Teller began to tap the hard plastic key chain on the tank. When Penn didn't respond, Teller threw it at him, but missed, sending the key out into the hall.

"Damnit, Tim. Where's your card?" Penn shouted. He looked back at Teller, no longer splashing about in the water. "Let him out! Let him out!"

Tim started looking around for the key. He found it out in the hall and rushed over to the tank. Before Tim was able to let him out, Penn held him back by the shoulder.

"Take it easy," Penn said quietly. He checked it watch. They were at just after five minutes.

Penn took the key from Tim's hand and pretended to fumble with the non-existent lock. As he dicked around with the lock, Teller pushed the lid open and spat a mouthful of water in Penn's face. Penn reeled back as Teller tore his mask from his face and clung to the tank wall. He took Tim's signed card from inside his mask and threw it on the ground.

"Five forty-five," Penn said, checking his watch. "You sure you can do the whole thing?"

Teller nodded confidently, checking his mask. As Penn stepped over to check out Teller's mask, Tim picked up his signed card from the floor.

"How did he get the card?" Tim wondered aloud.

"He just did," Penn said blankly. "You didn't get to see the punch line."

Penn turned back to Teller, whispering secret instructions. Teller nodded, put the mask back over his face, and submerged himself once more to test the new positioning. As he putzed around with the mask under the water, Penn turned back to Tim.

"Hey, go bring someone else in here for me," Penn said. "Don't tell them what we're doing, though. I don't think it would work right if they knew what to expect."

Tim ran out of the room, eager to be done with their sick little experiment. He returned shortly thereafter with Victoria close behind him. As soon as Victoria laid eyes on the horror movie scene unfolding before her, she stepped back and shook her head.

"Oh, no," she said. This is too much. Sorry."

Penn shook his head and lead Victoria into the room by the wrist.

"Relax," he said. "If anything goes wrong, only Teller will get hurt."

Before Victoria could argue, Marc shut the tank lid and passed the SCUBA regulator down to Teller. They ran through the trick using Victoria as the victim, being careful as to not freak her out too badly. This time, they were able to work through the entire script before Teller pulled himself out of the tank. When Penn turned Teller around to show Victoria's signed card in the SCUBA mask, Victoria stumbled backwards, knocking into the prop table they had set up for the rehearsals.

"That work?" Penn asked as Teller clung to the side of the tank.

Teller took off his mask and nodded. He took the card out of his mask and handed it to Penn.

"This is gonna rock," Penn observed, tapping the card against his fingertips. We'll do it two more times and call it a day.

Teller gave him a thumbs-up and nodded.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

They ran the trick four more times — for Gilbert, Billy, Julia, and a group of writers. The mechanism in Teller's mask failed when they ran through the script with the writers, and Penn simply took too long with Julia, stopping several times to flirt. By the time Teller was finally able to climb out of the tank, the water was ice cold.

"Man, go get changed," Penn said when he noticed Teller's teeth chattering. "I'll clean up."

Teller grabbed the small gym bag under the prop table and walked across the hall to change into dry clothes.

"They're gonna need to replace this rug," Penn said, digging the heels of his cowboy boots deep into the soggy carpet.

"It's one hell of a trick, though," Billy said, helping Penn clean up.

"I'm not satisfied," Penn said. "Not at all. Fifty percent failure is too damn much for a bit like this."

Billy handed him a stack of wet cards. "Yeah, but if you were a baseball player, you'd be batting .500 and you'd be a superstar," he said.

Penn chuckled. "No one's ever drowned playing baseball."

Teller returned to the room, exchanging his gym bag for his jacket. He finished drying his hair with a towel he brought over from the hotel and shoved it into the gym bag.

"I'm still not convinced," Penn said. "What about you?"

Teller shook his head as he straightened his tie.

"Didn't think so," Penn said. "Bring your gear back to the room and we'll see what's wrong with it."

Teller put his mask into his gym bag and left it on the table to help Billy and Penn pick up the cards that had gotten thrown all over the room.

"You guys gonna stick around for the party after the show on Saturday?" Billy asked, eyeing the tank.

"Not sure," Penn said, tossing a bunch of cards into the trash. He looked over to Teller. "What do you think?"

Teller shrugged. He seemed to like the idea.

"Oh, they're a total blast," Billy said, tossing a stack of cards into the trash bin as well. "And Mr. Michaels seems to like you guys."

Teller smiled nervously and looked at the floor.

"Think about it," Billy said before leaving the room.

"Should we tell them how it's done?" Penn asked as soon as Billy was out of earshot.

Teller shook his head as he tossed what was left of the cards into the trash bin.

"You're right," Penn said. "We may want to do this again if it works right."

Penn checked to make sure that the SCUBA tank valve was closed and left the room. Teller picked up his gym bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder, and followed. They walked to the elevator, noticing very quickly that the floor was almost entirely void of human life. Penn checked his watch, stopping briefly when he noticed the time.

"No wonder I've got a headache," Penn said, showing Teller his watch. "It's damn near six-thirty."

Teller leaned in to look at the watch, not able to believe that it had taken them that long to run the trick six times.

"It was probably all that time we spent fucking around with the gear," Penn pointed out, knowing what was on Teller's mind. "You're sure you're cool with this?"

Teller nodded confidently. He had a good idea about what was causing the mechanism to fail.

"Well, I'm just not sure that I could handle a solo career right now," Penn joked.

They stepped onto the elevator and Penn hit the button for the sixth floor. Teller looked up at him, unclear of Penn's intent.

"Just take a minute," Penn assured.

They rode down two floors to six and stepped off onto the smaller — though cleaner — hallway. Penn lead the way to 6A, slightly surprised that they were able to wander right into the backstage area. He got close enough to the set to be able to tell that Act V was filming, but he couldn't tell who David was interviewing.

"You guys were on the show a few weeks ago, weren't you?" a young intern asked.

"Yeah," Penn said. "We dropped a truckload of cockroaches on David's desk."

The intern laughed at the imagery. "Goddamn midterms," he hissed. He spotted a writer coming in their direction and quickly darted out of sight.

Penn and Teller waited around backstage until the show was over. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, David left the set, almost knocking into Teller as he entered the backstage area.

"Oh! Hey," he said as soon as he realized exactly whom it was he'd just almost flattened. "You guys were great last month. I never saw it coming." He patted Teller on the shoulder. "You boys come back any time." He noticed someone more important somewhere behind Teller. "Excuse me," he said before leaving.

Penn and Teller both looked at one another, their jaws slacken.

"What the hell was that?" Penn asked.

He turned to leave, ready to shower and go to bed. As they stepped back into the hall, they saw David talking to a rather attractive young diva.

"I can't work under these conditions," she demanded. "You get it fixed or I'm out."

Teller tapped Penn on the arm and pointed to the diva.

"Yeah, I think so too," Penn said. "I don't know if I really want to tango with her."

They watched from the sidelines for a few minutes as the diva tore into Letterman about every asinine little thing she could find wrong with the set or the backstage area. After watching the verbal assault for perhaps a little too long, Penn and Teller left the set.


	11. Chapter 11

"You sure that's what's wrong?" Penn asked.

Teller nodded, adjusting the strap on his SCUBA mask. Beside him on the table was an open bag of marshmallows, many of which were strewn across the floor and Penn's bed. In a sort of twisted spin on the Parsley Game, Penn and Teller had taken to throwing marshmallows at one another when attention was diverted. Penn took advantage of Teller's desire to not drown on national television and pegged him in the side of the head as he tooled with the strap on the mask. Teller pretended not to notice.

"I just hope you're right about this is all," Penn said.

Penn was stopped from lecturing any further by a knock at the door. As he turned around in his seat, Teller picked up a marshmallow and hucked it in Penn's direction, hitting him in the shoulder. Penn hurled himself up off the bed and opened the door. A young college-aged kid wheeled a small tray into the room.

"I'd just hate to see you drown on live TV is all," Penn said to Teller.

The room-service kid took a step back at Penn's words. Penn reached for his wallet, forgetting that his sweats didn't have pockets.

"Just a second," Penn said.

Teller tossed Penn his wallet from the table. As Penn turned back around to tip the kid, Teller picked up a rubber band from the table and launched a marshmallow at Penn wrist-rocket style, pegging Penn square in the back of the head. Teller managed to hit Penn twice more in this same fashion before Penn finally turned around.

"Little weasel," Penn snarled, turning from the kid.

Penn picked up a few marshmallows from the ground and lobbed them at Teller. Seeing more than enough, the kid left the room-service tray and left the scene. Teller tried to defend himself from Penn with his make-shift wrist-rocket, but as Penn got closer to him, the rubber band became useless. Before Teller could react, Penn snatched the plastic bag from the table, and from just inches away, began throwing marshmallows at Teller in rapid fire.

The lunacy was soon interrupted by a harsh rapping on the door. Penn retreated to answer the knocking, turning his back to Teller. Taking advantage of the situation, Teller launched one more marshmallow, hitting Penn in the back.

"Stop it!" Penn said, still cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West. He opened the door to see the hotel's concierge standing in the hall. Penn quickly hid the bag behind his back.

"Sirs," the concierge said through his teeth. "We need to ask you to please keep the volume to a minimum." He glared back at Teller, who was still holding the rubber band in the "ready" position. "And we'd also like to remind you that you will be billed for any outrageous cleaning costs."

"Okay," Penn said lightly. "Sorry."

The concierge turned and left.


	12. Thursday

"Teller, I don't like this."

Penn clutched the lock, less than convinced that Teller could survive the full duration of the script.

"Just humour him and try it once," Marc said from the side of the room. He held the actual key to the lock in his hand.

"Whose side are you on, Garland?" Penn snarled.

Marc stepped back against the wall. "I don't take sides," he said.

Penn turned back to Teller, who was perched up on the ladder by the side of the tank.

"I'm not locking it," Penn said flatly. "Fifty percent failure is just too damn much."

Teller huffed through his nose and climbed down from the tank. He put his jacket on and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Penn started to follow, but decided it might be better to let Teller cool off first.

"He'll be back," Penn assured himself.

Twenty minutes later, Penn realized that he had lied to himself.

"I thought you said he'd be back," Marc said, checking his watch.

Penn threw the lock down on the floor and walked out of the room. He twisted through the backstage area of 8H, finding only actors and techies. He spotted Billy in the mix and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Have you seen Teller?" he asked.

Billy shook his head, not looking up from his script. "Not since yesterday," he said absently.

"Great," Penn muttered. He left the set and headed toward the elevator. As he stepped into the lift, he hesitated before hitting the floor button. He decided to try nine, and went to the lounge area. Other actors and various staff members were milling about, waiting to be called to the set. Julia and Victoria were on the sofa against the back wall, gabbing a mile a minute.

"You two see Teller?" Penn asked at the first lull in conversation.

"No. Why?" Victoria asked.

"Did you lose him?" Julia asked, laughing.

Penn looked around the room. "Yeah, kinda," he said.

"Good," Julia laughed.

Penn shook his head and left the lounge area. He went back to the elevator and rode it to the lobby.

"Your friend left about a half hour ago," the desk receptionist said when she saw Penn walking toward the desk.

"You see which way he went?" Penn asked hopefully.

The desk receptionist pointed down Sixth Avenue.

"Oh, I know where he is," Penn said to himself. "Thanks."

Penn walked the six blocks to Times square and made his way to Hakata, a cheesy Japanese restaurant that sat on the ground floor of a small office building. No host greeted him as he stepped into the poorly lit dining room. Penn noticed Teller in the back of the restaurant almost instantly. He wound through the maze of tables and sat opposite of his partner at the small circular table.

"I've been looking all over for you," Penn said as he pulled his chair closer to the table.

Teller picked up a piece of what he believed to be pork with his chopsticks and offered it to Penn. Penn took the peace offering with his fingers.

"Thanks," he said before taking a bite. "Lorne wants to see the trick first thing tomorrow morning," Penn said. "You sure you really want to do this? We can always do something else. Something that, you know, won't fail on us and require the use of a few medics?"

Teller didn't even look up from his plate. He just picked around the leeks that some foul-humoured cook put into his soba.

"What is it with you and green vegetables?" Penn mused, plucking one of the leeks from Teller's plate. "This trick just really makes me nervous, is all," he said, back on his original path. "You're not budging on this at all, are you?" he finally asked flatly.

Teller looked up at him and shook his head.

"Sometimes I really hate you," Penn said under his breath.

Teller ignored the remark. He knew there was probably some degree of truth to it, but he didn't care to find out just how much truth it actually contained.

Penn looked down at his watch. "If we want Lorne's approval on this, we'd better figure out what's wrong with it," he said.

Teller quickly finished his soba and stood up from the table. He pulled his wallet from inside his jacket and threw a few singles on the table for a tip. He paid for his meal at the counter and walked back out on to Sixth Avenue with Penn. The sun was already beginning to set in the early November sky, dipping below the New Jersey skyline in the distance. As they walked the six blocks back to 30 Rock, Teller began checking his pockets to make sure he had all of his gear in the proper places. In the distance, Penn noticed a small group of what for all intents and purposes looked to be high school dropouts with serious attitudes. Penn tapped Teller's elbow once, directing his attention over to the teens.

"Watch out for these guys over here," Penn said quietly.

Teller took his hands out of his pockets and quickened his gait, walking closer to Penn than usual. He tried to keep an eye on the small gang without obviously doing so, but found it a harder task than expected.

They made it down to 30 Rock in about twenty minutes and rode the elevator back up to the eighth floor. On their way back to their planning room, Teller ducked into the green room and lead Victoria out into the hall by the hand.

"Oh, don't make me sit through that again," she pleaded.

Teller rolled his eyes and lead her into the practice room. Penn was already refilling the tank. He had ten unopened decks of cards laid out on the table and had taken Teller's SCUBA mask from his gym bag.

"We'll try it with the lock only if it works this time," Penn said.

Teller nodded and took off his jacket. He sat it on the table and picked up his mask.

"Tomorrow for Lorne, you should wear your jacket. Full dress, ya know?" Penn said, testing the water's temperature with his hand.

Teller nodded as he put on his mask. He climbed the ladder and tested the water for himself.

"That all right for you?" Penn asked.

Teller nodded.

"So, you're really going to lock him in there for the show?" Victoria asked nervously.

"If we can get it to work, yeah," Penn said.

He picked up one of the decks of cards and put it in his trousers pocket. Teller climbed into the tank, taking a few seconds before he submerged himself. He resurfaced just long enough to grab the lid and close it over his head. As soon as he was situated, Marc passed the SCUBA regulator down through the bars and handed Teller the fake key to the lock.

They ran through the trick with Victoria in just under eight minutes — Penn added a few small changes that made the run slightly longer. Not wanting to take the time to find someone new to pick the card and stand around, Penn picked up the second deck of cards and gave Teller a bit of time to catch his breath and reset his mask and SCUBA regulator. Penn reluctantly took the lock from his pocked and slid it through the hasp on the lid of the tank, leaving it unlatched — as part of one of Penn's new changes, that part came later.

Victoria was less than willing to help them run through it with the lock, but she knew she didn't have a choice. She went along with Penn's instructions, locking the tank, taking the regulator, and picking and signing the card. Even though she knew it was just a trick — this was the third time she'd been forced to help run it — the fact that Teller was honest-to-goodness locked in the tank was an unsettling thought. As Teller fought for air while Penn fumbled around for the card made Victoria want to vomit. Marc clocked the run — successful as well — at 7:48.

"Two in a row," Penn said as Teller moved the mask up over his head. "I don't know what you did, but it seems to be working now."

Teller held on to the edge of the tank with a little bit of difficulty. Penn noticed Teller shaking slightly and held out his hand.

"Mask," he said.

Teller shook his head.

"No," Penn said. We got two good runs in today. We'll do a few more later." He snatched the SCUBA mask from Teller and sat it on the table. "Go change and take a break."

Teller grudgingly climbed out of the tank and took his gym bag across the hall to the restrooms.

"We got through a lot more yesterday," Marc observed.

"We also got through a lot more yesterday," Penn reminded him. "It took us all day to run it six times. We just did it twice in twenty minutes."

"Can I go now?" Victoria asked.

Penn pulled an open pack of cards from his pocket and started shuffling it.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "We'll have someone else help us out later."

"Thank god," Victoria said as she left the room.

Teller promptly returned to the practice room and exchanged his gym bag for his jacket.

"I don't care where you go, but be back in here in an hour," Penn said as Teller put on his jacket.

Teller nodded and left the room. Penn crammed the cards back into his pocket and picked up Teller's gym bag.

"What are you doing with that?" Marc asked.

"Gonna go throw his stuff in the dryer so he can change later on," Penn explained, leaving for the laundry room.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Penn found the washroom and flicked on the light. There were three sets of washers and dryers lined up on the left wall, and a large table along the right wall. Penn tossed Teller's clothes into the nearest dryer and hung his tie up to dry. The brown wingtips Teller had been wearing in the tank were on the verge of falling apart from being flung through a magician's rigmarole for so long that Penn was tempted to just throw them away and buy Teller a new pair. Against his better judgment, Penn sat the wingtips on the dryer to let them air out a bit. As he messed around with the settings on the dryer, he heard the washroom door open behind him. Penn turned around to see Paul Schaffer, David's band leader and former SNL band leader, walk in the room holding a black collared shirt in his hands. As he was only wearing his trousers and a ratty undershirt, Penn assumed the collared shirt was Paul's.

"I really hate some of these guests," Paul muttered, throwing the shirt into the washing machine next to Penn.

"What happened?" Penn asked stupidly.

Paul dug a box of detergent from the cupboard above the washing machine.

"Oh, I'm telling you," Paul lamented. "You say one goddamn wrong thing, and some fruity drink gets thrown at you."

"I've been there," Penn said lightly as he figured out the settings on the dryer. "People in this building are just nuts."

Paul laughed lightly. "You're one to talk," he said.

Penn took the shot.

"Where's the little guy?" Paul asked, looking around nervously.

"Oh, I didn't want him to drown, so I told him to take a break."

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

An hour and a half later, Penn realized that he had forgotten all about Teller in lieu of talking with Paul. He quickly stuffed Teller's clothes back into the gym bag and rushed back to the practice room. He found it void of any human life. Penn threw the bag near the table where Teller had left it and quickly walked down to the lounge area. Most of the staff was by now gathered in the too-small-to-work room, watching the television in the corner. Penn found Teller asleep on the sofa, in between Julia and Victoria, who were engaged in their usual female gossip. Penn muscled his way between Teller and Julia on the sofa, glancing over at the television set to see what had everyone so enthralled.

"How long's he been out?" Penn interrupted.

Victoria looked over at Teller, then to Penn.

"He came in right after me and just fell asleep," Victoria said.

Penn checked his watch. If they could find Marc quickly enough, they might be able to get in two more runs. Penn tapped Teller on the shoulder a few times.

"Teller, man. Wake up," He said.

Teller only shifted slightly.

"C'mon, man," Penn said, shoving him lightly. "We gotta do this thing."

Nothing from Teller. Penn shook his head and stood up from the sofa.

"Oh, no. You don't have to wake him up," Victoria said in Teller's defense. "He's fine as long as he's... asleep."

"No, it's not that," Penn said, missing the point entirely. "I just wanna run through that thing again." He reached out, making sure he kept a proper distance. "Oh," he said. "You might want to move. This won't be pretty."

Victoria and Julia both stood up slowly. Julia left the area, sickened by Lorne's choice in talent, but out of sheer morbid curiosity, Victoria stayed to see what Penn was about to do to his defenseless partner.

"Wake up!" Penn shouted as he lightly slapped Teller on the forehead.

Teller swung both fists in front of him before he actually opened his eyes. He looked back and forth between Penn and Victoria, slightly embarrassed and what he knew had just happened. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, hoping to be able to play everything cool.

"Come on," Penn said, tapping Teller's shoulder. "We should find Marc and do this damn thing again."

Teller shook his head and leaned back against the ratty cushions. After a moment's hesitation, Victoria sat back down, this time with a little more distance between herself and Teller.

"You're ready to present this thing to Lorne tomorrow?" Penn confirmed.

Teller nodded, yawning.

"I hope you're right," Penn said, taking what was Julia's seat on the sofa.


	13. Friday

"So, this is where we're supposed to be?" Penn asked for about the fifteenth time, looking down at the multi-coloured tape on the floor. "I stand here?"

"Yes," one of the techies said, making sure all of the tape was properly marked.

"Do you want me to start out here, or what?" Penn asked, making sure he was on his mark.

"Up to you," the techie said, paying more attention to the tape on the floor.

"I'll start out here," Penn said to himself. He pulled a deck of blue-backs from his pocket and nervously started shuffling.

Teller walked onto the stage holding one of his duplicate jackets in his hands. He stood in the middle of the box taped on the floor and looked out into the house. With the bright lights shining in his face, the large two-story auditorium seemed much smaller. He could barely see the cameras in front of him, much less the 400-odd seats behind them. He looked up at the visibly nervous Penn and smiled. Penn did not return the gesture. He only shuffled the cards and checked his mark once more.

"Okay, boys," the stage manager said. "Mr. Michaels is on his way down. Get ready."

Teller walked back off stage and quickly changed jackets, handing the one full of props off to Marc. He checked over his mask once more before walking back out to join Penn on stage. Several minutes later, Lorne took a seat in the front row, setting a bowl of popcorn on his lap.

"Uh, Lorne. Could you come up here, please?" Penn asked.

Lorne hesitated before going up to the set. "What's up?" he asked.

"Well, as you know, Lorne, what we're doing here is a simple card trick," Penn said. "But a card trick isn't really interesting from very far away, so we figured that if you were to fully appreciate what we're doing this week, you should be up here on stage to see it."

Teller walked off stage. Lorne started to ask what he was doing, but was too confused about why he was on stage to be able to pay attention to everything at once.

"You see, Lorne. Card tricks are good for close up, but if we want the audience here and at home to be entertained as well, we figured we should have something for them to look at as well."

He turned slightly, directing Lorne's attention to Stage Left. With the aide of a techie, Marc wheeled the tank, full of water and Teller, out to the mark on the set. A third techie sat a bright yellow SCUBA tank down next to the tank.

"Now, Teller's not holding his breath just yet," Penn assured. "That's later."

Lorne's attention was sorely divided between the two magicians. He tried to find the words to say about the hazards of having a large tank of water on the set, but Penn cut him off once more.

"You'll notice, Lorne, that there's a lock right up here on the top of the tank," Penn said.

Teller pointed to where he thought the lock was with his right hand.

"It's not locked, just hanging from the hasp," Penn pointed out. "In his up stretched left hand, Teller is holding, quite literally, the key to his life right there. What I need you to do, Lorne, is go ahead and lock him in the tank."

Lorne hesitantly did as he was instructed. "Why are we doing this?" he finally managed to ask.

"Well, Lorne, I'll explain," Penn said. "Teller has sworn on his honor as a gentleman to hold his breath under water until I find a selected card. To make sure that he keeps that word, we've locked him in a tank. You'll notice, Lorne, that there are bars on top there which were specifically designed to keep Teller from getting to the air that the rest of us are taking for granted. But before the card trick starts proper, what I need you to do is just rip that SCUBA regulator right out of his mouth, there."

Lorne hesitated for a moment before grabbing the hose and wrenching the regulator from Teller's mouth. He held on to the regulator for a moment, not sure what to do. Finally, Marc ran out to his rescue and drug the tank offstage.

"Okay, Lorne," Penn said, pulling a sealed pack of cards from his pocket. "Could you take a look at that pack, there?"

Lorne looked it over, not sure what to consider "out-of-the-ordinary."

"The wrapping is still intact, Lorne, isn't it?" Penn asked. "No cuts have been made along any of the edges or anything?"

"Uh, yeah," Lorne said. "It's good."

"Okay, Lorne, just go ahead and take off the wrapping."

Lorne took of the plastic wrap, still looking over the box.

"And the seal, Lorne," Penn continued. "The seal hasn't been tampered with at all, has it, Lorne?"

"No," Lorne said. "I don't think so."

Penn pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, opening it with one hand. He handed it to Lorne.

"Now, don't cut yourself, Lorne, but just go ahead and cut the seal there," Penn said. "I'll take the knife when you're done."

Lorne cut the seal and handed the knife back to Penn, who absently closed it with one hand. He stuffed the knife back in his pocket.

"Now, Lorne," he said. "Just go ahead and take the cards out of the box there. Just go ahead and throw the box on the floor — and the jokers and advertising cards — that's what you pay stagehands for."

Lorne turned the pack upside-down and pulled the cards out of the box. He hesitated a bit before actually throwing the box and extra cards on the floor.

"Go ahead and look at those cards," Penn said. They're all there, right?"

Lorne nodded.

"Go ahead and give those cards a thorough shuffle," Penn said. "That is, unless you have a shred of human decency."

Lorne nervously shuffled the deck twice. "Okay," he said. "Now what?"

Penn pulled up his sleeves as far as he could and showed his hands empty. "There's nothing in my hands, Lorne; I'm just going to fan the cards out so you can take one."

Penn fanned the cards out and let Lorne take one. Once Lorne had a card, Penn turned around and pulled a magic marker out of his pocket. Inside the tank, Teller covered his eyes with his right hand.

"Lorne, just go ahead and sign the face of the card — the side that's different from all the rest — the side with the value and suit — with your name nice and big, then go ahead and let the audience see it," Penn said. "Be sure to show it to the cameras as well. When you're done, go ahead and give me the pen."

Lorne scribbled his name across the face of the card in bold red ink. He recapped the pen and gave it back to Penn as he showed his card to the cameras. Penn turned around and held the deck out in front of him. He cut the deck and had Lorne place the card in the middle of the deck. Penn cut the deck before realizing that he still held the magic marker in his hand. He quickly dropped it in his pocket and shuffled the deck a few times.

"Now, Lorne," Penn said. "I know your first name, and I know your last name, but what's your middle name?"

Lorne chuckled slightly. "You don't know my last name," he said. "You just think you do."

"What do you mean?" Penn asked. He realized he was stalling, but Lorne cut him off.

"It's actually Lorne Michael Lipowitz," Lorne said. "But it was too Jewish for television."

"Okay, Lorne," Penn said, taking a moment to recover from Lorne's remark. "Hold out your hand for me."

Lorne held his hand out as Penn instructed, and Penn began counting cards into his hand.

"M-I-C-H-A-E-L," Penn said, saying a letter with each card. He turned over the seventh card and showed it to Lorne. "And is that your card, Michael, the six of spades?"

"No," Lorne said.

"Okay," Penn said, throwing the card over his shoulder. He counted out seven more cards into Lorne's hand, turning over the last one again. "Is that your card, Michael, the two of diamonds?"

"No," Lorne said.

Penn tossed the card down. "Okay," he said. "Now, I don't seem too worried, do I, Lorne?" he asked.

"No, you don't," Lorne said.

Penn handed what was left of the pack back to Lorne and again showed his hands empty. He put his hand into his jacket pocket for perhaps a bit too long and pulled out a small sealed envelope.

"That's because, Lorne, before the trick ever even started, I put this in my pocket," he said. He handed the envelope to Lorne. "What's it say on there, Lorne?"

"Eleven-forty-two AM," Lorne read aloud.

"Which, if you believe everything you read," Penn said, stepping over to the tank, "was hours before the trick even started." He held onto the key in Teller's left hand. "Go ahead, Lorne, and just tear that envelope open and say 'yes, Penn, that's my card!' Can you do that for me?"

Lorne tore the envelope open and pulled out a card. "Yes, Penn... No that's not my card!" he said.

"We don't have time for jokes," Penn said.

"No, it's not my card!" Lorne pleaded.

Penn and Teller exchanged nervous glances. Penn bounded over to Lorne and snatched the envelope from Lorne's hand. He tore it to shreds, looking for another card.

"I... I palmed the wrong goddamn card," he said to himself. After a moment, he realized what he had said and jumped up onto the tank's base. "Teller!" he shouted. "I palmed the wrong goddamn card!"

He snatched at the key in Teller's hand, but Teller brought his hand under the water. Penn jumped up, trying to get to the key under the water, but only succeeded in getting wet. After a few seconds, he calmed himself and turned back to Lorne.

"Give me the key, Teller!” he shouted, reaching into the tank. “Give me the goddamned key!”

Teller shook his head from the bottom of the tank, holding the large plastic tag in both hands.

“He's right," Penn said, taking the pack back from Lorne. "I should find the card."

He brought Lorne's hand back out and dealt out seven more cards, spelling Lorne's middle name once more. He turned over all seven cards, looking for Lorne's signature.

"No!" Lorne said, panicked.

Penn dealt out seven more cards before turning them over, again not finding Lorne's card.

"No!" Lorne shouted.

Behind them, Teller began tapping on the lid of the tank with the hard plastic key chain. Penn dealt out seven more cards, ignoring Teller. Teller shook his head and threw the key at Penn's head, missing by just inches. Penn didn't notice. As Penn started to just look through the few cards that remained in his hands, Teller began to thrash about in the tank.

"It's not here, Lorne!" Penn said. "Check on the floor!"

Both Penn and Lorne dropped to their hands and knees and began crawling about on the stage floor, looking for the card.

"What are we at, Marc?" Penn shouted.

"Six-ten!" Marc shouted from off-stage.

Penn tugged on Lorne's trouser cuff.

"Let him out!" he said. "I'll look for the card."

Lorne jumped off the stage and picked the key up from the floor in the house. He ran up to the tank and tried to unlock the lid, but the key wouldn't turn.

"It doesn't fit!" Lorne said.

"It's a copy!" Penn said. "Jiggle it!"

Lorne tried again, but it still didn't work. "It doesn't fit!"

Penn got up from the floor and looked at his own watch. "Forget it, Lorne," he said. "He's brain-dead."

Lorne looked over his shoulder at Penn. Penn took the key from Lorne and tried it himself.

"It's the wrong goddamn key," he said to himself. "You know, Lorne, there's a rule in circus that the performer is ultimately responsible for checking their own equipment. Though the roustabouts may set the tightrope, it's the walker himself who's responsible for checking the turnbuckles."

Lorne stared at him, not sure he understood what he was hearing.

"So, clearly," Penn continued, "it was Teller's fault that we had the wrong key. Not a jury in the world would convict you, Lorne," Penn said, slipping the key into Lorne's front shirt pocket. "Even though you locked him in the tank and you took away his only air supply, and it happened on your show."

Lorne looked out into the house, realizing for the first time exactly what had just happened.

"It's truly amazing that this man was willing to die for a cause which he believed in," Penn said solemnly. "Albeit, an insignificant card trick. I think it's only fair that at this point, the act should be called simply Penn, in memory of my partner, Teller. Let us, once more, gaze upon the face of my partner, Teller," Penn said as he reached up and grabbed Teller's hand, turning him around to face the audience. "And Lorne, is that your card!" he shouted, pointing to Lorne's signed card that was now apparently inside Teller's mask. "Alright, Marc," Penn said.

Marc walked out onstage and pushed the tank, with Teller still inside, back into the wings. Penn looked down at one of the techies seated in the front row.

"He splashed you, didn't he?" Penn asked, noticing the wet spots on the techie's shirt. "He did that on purpose, you know? He was a mean little bastard right up until the end." Penn chuckled. "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Penn Jillette, that was my partner, Teller. We're Penn & Teller! Goodnight!" Penn walked off stage left where Marc and Teller were waiting.

"What the hell was that?" Lorne demanded after a few seconds of silence.

Penn looked out from the wings before walking onstage. A few seconds later, Teller peered out from behind the strictly ornamental curtain, wearing only his boxers and an undershirt. He quickly dried his hair with a ratty towel and put on a dry pair of trousers before following Penn out.

"Don't worry," Penn said. "He's fine."

"And he's fine with this?" Lorne asked.

Teller smiled and nodded quickly. He didn't even appear to be out-of-breath at all.

"He came up with the concept," Penn said.

"I like the trick," Lorne said nervously. "I really do, but it makes me nervous."

"We have three safety devices in play, here," Penn assured him. "Any two of which could fail, and Teller will still be fine."

"Three?" Lorne confirmed.

Teller nodded.

"Yeah," Penn said. "And even if Teller can't make it for the ten-or-so minutes that he needs to, Marc can come out and rescue him.

"Okay," Lorne said, thinking about what Penn had said. He looked at Teller, who had grown bored and was peering up into the light rigging. "Okay," Lorne repeated. "I like it."


	14. Chapter 14

Two floors down, David Letterman's crew was busy setting lights on what was otherwise their day off.

"I better not look orange on those monitors," the starlet demanded from the sidelines.

"Jill, you'll look fine," David insisted from behind his desk.

David picked up a pencil from his desk and pushed the eraser end against his head, mock drilling it into his skull. At this point, he didn't care of Jill saw or not. He desperately wanted an excuse to knock her from the schedule. He looked off stage left to see Penn looking at the set through the double doors in the house.

"Penn!" David said, nearly jumping over his desk to greet him.

Penn entered the set, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"Where's Teller?" David asked somewhat nervously.

Penn shook his head. "He's upstairs, changing into dry clothes," he lied.

"Right," David said. He sat down in one of the house seats and offered Penn to do the same. "I heard about the stunt you guys are pulling this weekend. Sounds great."

"So, hey," Penn said. "I just wanted to be sure that you were serious about that invitation the other day."

David seemed almost insulted. "Oh, of course," he said. "You guys are great. Sure, it was a rotten—"

"David!" Jill shouted from the set. "This is no time to be talking to the B-list guests!"

Penn took the cue and moved on to the second phase.

"Listen, honey," he said sharply. "We're talking, now. Wait your turn."

Teller heard the argument unfold from the hall behind the set. Knowing everyone would be more interested in a fight between a starlet, the host, and a "B-list" guest, Teller rushed backstage. He still felt a little suspicious, so he first ducked into the green room. He took his tie off and jammed it into his pocket. In one of the closets, he found a Late Night cap and jacket. He pushed the cap low over his forehead and put the jacket on over his suit jacket. It was still a little big, but he wouldn't need it for long.

From the green room, he went straight to Jill's dressing room. He pulled his lock pick from inside his jacket, but soon realized that he didn't need it — Jill had left her door unlocked. Teller let himself in, quickly scanning the room. He could hear the argument heating up over the crackling loudspeakers, but tried not to listen.

He quickly found the necklace in a small, black velvet box on the make-up counter. He pocketed the necklace, leaving the box behind, and left the room. He waited until he was out in the hall to take off the cap and jacket. Not sure what to do with them, he rolled them into a ball, hiding the Late Night logos, and walked around to the stage left doors. He slowly pushed one of the doors open, effectively silencing the room. Penn saw Teller and turned to leave the set.

"Come on, Teller," he said, grabbing his partner by the lapel of his jacket and pulling him back out to the hall. As the doors swung shut, they could hear the argument start up again.

Penn followed Teller up to the 8th floor. Teller ducked into the large prop closet that he had found earlier in the week and hung the jacket up on one of the many costume racks. Not sure what to do with the cap, he tossed it into a corner.

"Look at this place," Penn mused, marveling at the years of collected props and costumes. Like a ten-year-old in a magic shop for the first time, he started looking in all of the boxes at once. "These guys have everything," he said to himself.

On a shelf above him, Penn spotted two old silk top hats.

"Look at this," he said with a laugh.

He tossed one of the hats to Teller, who took only a few seconds to recognize it as collapsible. Teller put the hat on, which was a little big, and pulled a tuxedo jacket with tails from one of the costume racks. He put the jacket on over his own, and after a cheesy soft-step, he produced his cane. Penn cackled wildly, putting the Wicked Witch to shame. Donning a hat of his own, Penn tried a few card flourishes, but his fingers slipped and he sent a deck of cards flying all over the room. Ignoring the cards — they got them in bulk and only ever used them once anyway — they returned their lame magicians' costumes to their proper places and moved on to the boxes.

Over their childlike giggling, Penn heard Jill yelling and screaming at David out in the hallway. Knowing they wouldn't have time to get out of the prop room unseen, Penn pulled Teller into the costume racks, hiding about two deep. Seconds later, the door flew open, and David and Jill stepped inside.

"Yes, someone did bring some old stuff up here this morning, but they wouldn't have taking things from the dressing rooms," David insisted. "Did you check everywhere?"

"I don't like being called a liar, David!" Jill snapped.

David began riffling through one of the boxes on the floor. "It's not in here," he said simply. "It wouldn't be."

He stood up, holding a pigskin football in his hand. Jill snatched it from his grasp and awkwardly threw it toward the back of the room. It hit a small brass statue perched precariously on the top shelf, sending it falling into the costume racks. Penn saw what was going to happen before it happened, but it didn't take any amount of precognition to see where it was going to land. He tried to pull Teller out of the way, but was just quick enough to be too slow. The statue crashed down in the middle of Teller's soggy wingtipped shoe — it would have been his head, but at least Penn was quick enough where it counted. Penn squeezed his hand over Teller's mouth and held his head against his chest to ensure he had a tight hold. He tried to divide his attention between the argument and his friend, but keeping Teller quiet soon won over. The warm tears rolling over his hand and Teller's choppy breathing through his nose made Penn absolutely sick. Everything about the situation set a heavy feeling of guilt squarely in his gut.

After what seemed like a decade, Jill and David left the prop room, screaming at one another at full volume. As soon as the door shut, Penn let go of Teller and took a step back.

"Motherfucker!" Teller screamed as he dropped to the floor.

It was rare and awkward when Teller had more to say than Penn. He hated only being able to stand amid the old musty costumes while his friend sat damn-near crippled on the floor.

"I'm sorry, man," Penn babbled. "This is all my fault."

He helped Teller back to his feet, practically holding him upright. Teller's eccentric form of dignity won over any more bitching and moaning that would normally accompany such a situation. He bit his lip and leaned against the wall, his red face sticky with tears. He dried his face as best he could with his hand while once more swearing under his breath.

"You gonna be all right, man?" Penn asked, still trying to keep his distance, trying to compromise between being comforting and not stepping on Teller's pride.

Teller ignored him and worked his way from behind the costume racks. Once back out in the open, he sat down on the floor. Penn stumbled out after him, still not sure how to handle the situation.

The door swung open once more, causing Penn's heart to skip a few beats. Gilbert stepped inside, instantly recognizing a bad situation when he saw one.

"What the hell happened to him?" He asked.

"Something fell off of a shelf," Penn said, not wanting to lie more than he had to. He was starting to loathe lying in any form. "I guess we just got a little too excited."

"There's a nurse on seven," Gilbert said. He sounded honestly concerned, but Penn didn't allow himself to forget that Gil was a professional actor. "Maybe you should take him down there," Gilbert added.

"Yeah," Penn said. "You wanna show me where it is?"

Gilbert nodded. "Sure," he said.

Penn looked down at Teller, who had taken to biting his knuckle. He was biting so hard, Penn was afraid he was going to draw blood. He grabbed the back of Teller's jacket and with almost no effort, hoisted Teller to his feet.

"Come on, man," he said quietly, making sure that he hadn't hurt Teller with his rather barbaric choice of actions.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

“You know, it’s perfectly normal to verbally express yourself after something falls on you,” Penn said once they were back in the hotel room. Teller ignored the remark and made his way to the table by the window. Doing his best to pay as little attention to Penn as possible, he gingerly untied and took off his shoes, which were now so badly destroyed from the water that the soles were about to fall off.

“It’s not like I’d tell anybody if you said something to me once in a white,” Penn continued. He sat down on his unmade bed. “I don’t hardly talk to anybody buy you anyway.”

Teller picked up a copy of the New York Times from the table and turned to the crossword. He laid the paper out in front of himself and picked up the ballpoint he’d copped from the hotel lobby.

“You speak how many fucking languages, and since I’ve known you, I don’t think you’ve said two goddamn words to me,” Penn mused. “How the hell does that work?”

Teller slapped the ballpoint down on the table and reached down for his shoes.

“No,” Penn said, standing up. “Don’t bother. You’re hurt.”

He walked out the door, leaving Teller alone in the room.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Penn went back across the street to 30 Rock. Lorne had another meeting planned for that night, and he wanted Penn & Teller to attend. Penn took the elevator up to eight and got to the conference room just as the meeting was starting. He took an empty seat next to Victoria.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked as Lorne discussed the workings of a sketch with some of the writers.

“Back at the hotel,” Penn said flatly. “He got hurt, but he’s fine.”

Victoria gasped. “Did it have anything to do with your trick?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” Penn assured. “Nothing like that.”

Victoria seemed dissatisfied with the answer, but said nothing more about the subject. They sat in silence, listening to Lorne argue with a writer about comedic timing.

“So,” Victoria said after a few minutes. “What is your friend’s name?”

“Teller,” Penn said matter-of-factly.

“No,” Victoria said. “His first name.”

Penn shook his head. “He doesn’t have one. He’s just Teller.”

Victoria pushed him slightly. “No, seriously. What’s his name?”

Penn began to realize that maybe his friend’s chances weren’t as bad as he thought. He never could understand women that were into Teller, and he figured this might be his one chance to figure it out.

“I’m telling you,” he said. “It’s just Teller. I think I still have his wallet, actually,” he said.

He quickly checked his pockets, eventually finding Teller’s wallet. He pulled out the driver’s license and the credit cards and tossed them down on the table. Victoria picked up the license, pointing to the NFN where his first name should have been.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“No first name,” Penn said. “Do you believe me now?”

He put the license back in its place as Victoria looked at each of the credit cards, unable to believe that a person would have only one name.

“This one says ‘R. Teller’,” she pointed out.

Penn took the old, expired card from her fingers. “Yeah, he dropped that years ago.” He laughed slightly, not sure if Teller realized he still had the old card.

“What’s it stand for?” Victoria asked.

“You promise not to tell?” Penn asked quietly, taking the cards back. “Not even Teller. He’d kill me.”

“Yeah,” Victoria said, matching Penn’s volume. The secrecy made her feel like a school girl again.

Penn looked around at the other people in the room. “It’s Rudolph,” he whispered. He tried to sound serious, but he knew what he sounded like when he tried not to laugh.

Victoria pushed him again. “No it’s not,” she said.

“You’re right,” Penn admitted, still laughing. “But I’m seriously not supposed to tell. He dropped it for a reason.”

“You guys are weird,” Victoria said.

Penn looked around the room, noticing that a few of the actors were MIA from the mandatory meeting. Gilbert was absent from the table, which seemed to anger Lorne more than the other absences.

“Where’s Gil?” Pen asked.

Victoria shrugged. “He’s always gone from these things,” she said. “He’s probably up on 19 getting high.”

Penn shook his head. He tried to arrange the cards in Teller’s wallet so he didn’t know people had been digging through it.

As Lorne moved to the second half of the show’s rundown, Penn began to get nervous. He worried that Lorne would pull them from the show because of Teller’s completely random and unrelated injury.

“You guys gonna be able to do the spot?” Lorne asked when he did get to their position in the rundown.

“Yeah,” Penn said. “He’s fine.”

“Okay,” Lorne said, ready to move on.


	15. Saturday

Marc ran down the hall, clutching on to the key that he had managed to convince the concierge to give him. He got to the room number he was told Penn and Teller were staying in, nervously jamming the key into the lock. He slowly opened the door, knowing they’d probably still be asleep. He’d get Teller. Teller didn’t yell and scream when he was woken up early.

Marc stepped inside the room, knowing at once from the mess that he had the right one. The marshmallows and Cocoa Puffs on the floor only accented the bachelor-pad disaster. Dirty clothes were not only on the floor, but draped over chairs and on the table near the window. Marc followed the mess over to Penn’s bed. It took him a few moments to realize that someone else was cuddled up under the sheet along with Penn. Marc started to walk backwards out of the room, slowly as to not make any noise.

“I always knew they were funny,” he said to himself.

As Marc reached the threshold, the door leading to the other bedroom opened. Teller stepped out, wearing a pair of old black slippers and a plaid bathrobe. Sneering, he picked up a sock from the floor near his door and threw it at Penn, missing his mark by more than a foot. He waved his hand at his partner in disgust as he walked over to the kitchenette. Not even noticing Marc standing in the doorway, Teller picked up his ceramic mug and heated up some water in the microwave for a cup of tea. Marc’s attention skipped back and forth between Teller and whoever Penn had brought back to the room. He looked closer, now noticing the painted toenails on the second person. Narcissism at its worst.

Teller fixed up his tea and turned back to return to his room when he noticed Marc standing in the doorway. Teller stopped, trying to figure out if he’d been there the whole time, and if so, how he’d gotten in.

“There’s an issue across the street,” Marc said, taking a moment to find his voice. “I think you should come with me.”

Teller wasn’t sure what “issue” meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. He started to open his bedroom door, but Marc stopped him.

“You’re fine,” he said, not wanting to wait for Teller to get changed. “Just… come like that.”

Teller followed Marc over to 30 Rock in his bathrobe, wishing Marc had at least let him put on a pair of trousers and a pair of real shoes. The receptionist in the lobby wasn’t sure what to say about Teller’s wardrobe, but wasn’t able to say anything before he and Marc got on the elevator. They rushed over to the studio to find a small group of techies gathered around the water tank.

“There’s a leak,” Marc said. He pushed his way past the techies and touched the spot where water had been leaking from under the metal frame earlier that morning. “And it wasn’t there yesterday. We drained it, but no one’s been inside yet.”

Teller handed Marc his mug and climbed up the ladder, careful as to not slip and break his neck. He lowered himself into the tank, noticing at once what had happened to cause a leak. It looked like someone had taken an ice pick to the glass right on the edge of the frame. Teller touched the shattered area with his fingertip, making sure that’s what was causing the leak. He grabbed on to the top of the tank and tried to climb out, finding it nearly impossible with the cheap shower slippers. Marc sat the mug down on a nearby table and quickly climbed up the ladder, helping Teller out of the tank. Teller jumped down from the ladder and walked off the set.

“Where the hell’s he going?” one of the techies asked.

“Just watch,” Marc said.

Teller walked back to the hardware closet and began looking around the shelves and through the drawers. The longer he looked, the more frantic his search became, until finally, he was tossing things out of his way. Finally, he found what he had been searching for — a bottle of rubber cement. He pocketed the bottle and grabbed a roll of black gaffer’s tape from the wall, sliding it over his wrist as he walked back to the set. He stopped by Marc, holding up the arm with the gaffer’s tape.

“What?” Marc asked.

Teller shook his head slightly and shrugged. It took Marc a few seconds before he realized what Teller wanted.

“Oh,” he said, noticing that Teller had gaffer’s tape, rather than duct tape. Marc looked over at one of the techies. “Do you guys have duct tape?”

“That is duct tape, isn’t it?” he asked.

Teller sighed and climbed up the ladder.

“How do you know what he’s trying to say?” one of the techies asked.

Marc shook his head as he watched Teller climb into the tank, making sure that he didn’t slip and hurt himself. “I don’t, really,” he said. “I’m still learning.”

Teller pulled the rubber cement out of his pocket and uncapped it. He shook his head, overpowered by the scent of the glue. After a few seconds of getting used to the contaminated air, Teller applied the rubber cement over the cracks in the glass, making sure to fill in anything that could be a problem. He recapped the bottle and put it back into his pocket, hoping that the glue would dry quickly. He tested the tackiness with his finger, satisfied that it was ready. Measuring as he went along, Teller tore off a strip of gaffer’s tape from the roll and stuck it over the rubber cement, pushing down along the length as to make sure there were no air pockets. He put a second strip over the first one, making sure that he had gotten the entire crack. Once convinced that the problem was fixed, he put the roll back over his wrist and with the help of Marc, climbed back out of the tank. He stepped back a few meters from the tank, making sure that the black tape wouldn’t be visible from the house.

“You sure that will work?” Marc asked as he handed Teller his mug.

Teller nodded. He took a drink of his tea, slowly checking the angles. Silver duct tape would have been better, but even the black tape was hard to see. After a few minutes, Teller tapped Marc on the shoulder and nodded toward the tank.

“Try it out?” Marc asked.

Teller nodded. He was sure the rubber cement was dry by now. While he waited for the techies to get their act together and fill up the tank, Teller sat down cross-legged on the prop table to finish his tea.

The patch worked perfectly. The whole side would have to be replaced once they got the tank to their warehouse in Philly, but the gaffer’s tape would hold for the day.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Not particularly wanting to go back to the hotel room and deal with whatever stripper-model-college student-actress Penn had brought back this week, Teller found his way to the laundry room where Penn had left his clothes from the day before. As he changed from his pajamas into his suit, Teller realized that he didn’t have his shoes. After only a few seconds of consideration, he decided that he’d rather walk around in his socks than wear his slippers with his suit. He crammed his slippers and pajamas into his gym bag and went back to the green room, which was completely empty. Penn still had his wallet somewhere, and he didn’t have any money for breakfast, so Teller bravely began looking through the refrigerator in the green room. He found only half-eaten sandwiches and Tupperware containers full of mold cultures. It didn’t take him long to give up and sit down on the sofa. He turned on the Today Show, waiting for the rest of the cast members to show up.

After only a few minutes of watching Jane Pauley interview the latest self-help author, Teller felt like a zombie. Short of extra caffeine in their coffee, he couldn’t figure out how the perky early-morning hosts were able to do their thing without napping during the commercial breaks. Just as he began to fall asleep himself, Victoria walked into the greenroom and sat next to Teller. He woke up, slightly startled.

“You’re here early,” Victoria said.

Teller shrugged. He wasn’t even sure what time Marc had dragged him across the street, let alone how long he’d actually been at the studio.

“I have to ride in with my neighbour,” Victoria continued. “But I’m on my own for getting home, because she gets off at four.” She scoffed, suggesting there was more to the story than she was willing to admit.

Teller quickly checked his pockets, forgetting that they had been emptied out the day before. They still had the rental car, so in his own way, he tried to offer her a ride home, but without Penn to do his talking, he was useless. Angry with himself for being such a nutcase, he crossed his arms over his chest and put his feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Um… where are your shoes?” Victoria asked.

Teller shrugged and shook his head. He couldn’t help but to laugh a little bit. He knew how pathetic he must have looked in a suit that badly needed to be pressed and with no shoes.

“And where is your friend?” she asked, realizing that the only time she ever saw them apart was when one of them was up to something. Usually they were at least within earshot of one another. “Have you been up here all morning just by yourself?”

Teller nodded, suddenly wishing that Penn had given him back his wallet after they ran the trick the day before. He looked around, realizing that he had managed to even misplace his mug. He’d need to find a new one. He remembered a few David Letterman mugs in the prop closet, and made a mental note to grab one so he could at least make something to drink. Rehearsal wasn’t until one, and if the Today Show was still on, one o’clock was still a long wait.

“Why’d you even come up here this early anyway?” Victoria asked. She shook her head, realizing what she was doing. “I don’t know why I keep asking you all these questions,” she said. “You can’t answer me.”

Again, Teller wished that Penn was around. He began to realize that maybe Penn was right about his anti-social behavior, but he’d rather have not thought about it. Teller sighed deeply and stood up from the sofa. He was hungry, and Jane Pauley was making him irritable.

“Where are you going?” Victoria asked, following him out to the hall out of little more than morbid curiosity.

Teller lead her back to the communal prop closet, careful to not step on any foreign objects.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be in here,” Victoria said from the hallway.

Teller quickly grabbed a Late Night mug from the shelf and motioned for Victoria to lead the way to somewhere where it would be okay for him to wait for call time. As they slowly made their way back to the green room, a man who stood only slightly shorter than Penn stopped them in their path. He was wearing a cheap rent-a-cop uniform that didn’t quite fit him properly.

“You’re here early,” he said.

Victoria scoffed at the remark.

“Who’s this?” the security guard asked, pointed to Teller. “He belong to you?”

“No,” Victoria said. The way she spoke to the security guard reminded Teller of some of his former students; but some how, it seemed more appropriate when the tone was being used on someone else. “He’s a guest on the show,” Victoria continued.

“Where’s his badge?” the guard asked.

Teller looked down at his jacket, suddenly remembering that he’d hadn’t worn the security badge since the day it was given to him. Teller tried to come up with a quick lie, but he couldn’t find his voice. He soon gave up, sighing deeply through his nose.

“Jesus Christ, Gary,” Victoria said, looking at Teller with honest concern. “You’re upsetting him or something.”

“He doesn’t have a badge, he can’t be on the floor,” Gary said. “He’s going to have to come with me.”

Teller’s jaw fell slack. Victoria didn’t need to have known Teller for ten years to be able to tell that he was pleading for her help. She tried to come up with her own lie, but Gary grabbed Teller rather violently by the sleeve and started to lead Teller toward the elevator. Not wanting to get busted for stealing NBC property, Teller quickly handed the Letterman mug off to Victoria.

“You can’t kick him out!” Victoria demanded. “He doesn’t even have his shoes!”

Gary looked down, confirming the statement. “What the hell?” he chuckled. Power-tripping, Gary lead Teller down to the elevator anyway. He came into the building without shoes, he could leave without shoes. Gary pushed the button for the elevator, holding on to Teller’s arm as he waited for the doors to slide open.

Not long after, a soft “ding” announced that the lift had arrived. Before Gary could lead Teller onto the elevator, Penn stepped out into the hall, holding a large cardboard box. Not entirely unintentionally, Penn blocked Gary from getting on to the lift as he pulled a small white badge from his pocket with his free hand.

“Teller, man, you gotta be more careful,” he said, clipping the security badge on to Teller’s lapel. “I noticed this on the table.”

Gary snatched the badge up from Teller’s jacket to look at it. He grunted slightly as he handed the badge back to Teller. “Well,” he said, more than a little irritated. “I guess that’s all, then.”

Penn smiled at the security guard, knowing that he’d just won at something. “Come on,” Penn said to Teller. “I got us some donuts.”


	16. Chapter 16

The camera rehearsal started promptly at 1.0p, with Don Pardo announcing the cast over the loudspeaker in the two-story studio. Penn couldn’t help but grin when that booming voice announced their names toward the end of the lineup. It was officially their first show for the season, and even though they were a “stand-by” act, it meant that they had finally started to make it big. Teller stood next to Penn, nervously rocking back and forth with no rhythm to speak of.

Marc approached them from backstage and stood behind Teller.

“We’ve got everything ready,” he said. “You guys are going on at 1.45?”

Teller nodded weakly.

“Yeah,” Penn said. “You know where the spike is?”

“Yessir,” Marc said. “Dead centre.” He looked out at the band, headed by the brand-new leader G.E. Smith. It was a big year for new faces on the show. Even Lorne had come back after a five-year leave of absence. “We doing all the changes this time?” Marc asked.

“Yep,” was all Penn could say. He looked down at Teller. “You sure you can get ready that quickly?”

Teller nodded.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Encased in his underwater coffin of doom, Teller could barely hear the roar of the studio audience. Now that the cameras were rolling, Penn had managed to balance his flirting with the female audience member he pulled up onto the stage with them, and following the script. Teller figured they had about six minutes left before he’d need to be let out, but Penn was nearing the end of the trick a little before schedule. With his back turned to the studio audience that was customary for the 8.0p dress rehearsal, Teller had no way to gauge how well the trick was being received. He was beginning to think that something had gone awry when he felt Penn grab his hand and begin to twist him around in the tank. Now that he was facing the audience, he could hear the roar of laughter and applause upon seeing the signed six of spades on his mask. Penn dismissed the audience volunteer back to her seat and began addressing the audience for the closing of the bit. Keeping in character, Teller remained motionless in the tank, waiting to be wheeled back to the wings.

Once out of sightlines, Marc jumped up onto the ladder and unlocked the lid to the tank. He offered his hand to help Teller out, taking the scuba mask and setting it aside.

“How’d it go?” Marc asked, helping Teller down to the ground.

Teller nodded once he got to his feet. Making sure he kept out of the audience and camera sightlines, he started stripping out of his suit, the heavy wool fabric being uncooperative in his efforts. Marc stood by to put everything into the gym bag so they could be laundered after the show. As Teller absently took off his shirt, Marc began to wonder if it was weird that he was paid to help his boss strip down to nothing three times daily. Still feeling awkward about what he thought he saw earlier that day, he looked down at the floor. He noticed that the soles were about ready to fall off of Teller’s shoes and began to wonder if the check from this gig would be spent before it cleared.

Marc handed a ratty old towel to Teller just as Penn started walking backstage.

“Work better with an audience member?” Marc asked.

“Yeah, boss,” Penn said absently.

He walked past the tank and into the hallway behind the set, letting the buffer door swing silently shut behind him. Teller quickly dried himself and clumsily pulled on a dry pair of shorts, and ran to follow Penn out to the hall. As he got to the buffer doors, Penn returned backstage, shoving something into his pocket.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” he said. “Dinner’s waiting for us.”

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Teller sat up on the counter of the dressing room, watching Penn work on a card sleight. He had already eaten an entire pepperoni and anchovy pizza by himself, and had started picking at the second. The card sleight had begun to get the better of him, and Penn knew it, so he shoved the cards back into the box and crammed them into his pocket. As he dropped the cards in his pocket, his fingers brushed against something hard and soft. Not sure what else he had in his pockets, Penn pulled out the small, black velvet box and slowly opened the lid.

“I forgot to tell whatshisface that we got this thing,” he said, holding the necklace up so Teller could see.

Teller couldn’t stop himself. He suddenly remembered the broken glass on the tank earlier that morning, and his eyes flicked down to the ground. It was small, but Penn saw it.

“What?” he asked. “You’re not telling me something.”

Teller shook his head, trying to dismiss the subject. He picked the last slice of pizza up from the box and took a larger bite than necessary. Talking with one’s mouth full of food is rude and uncouth; neither of which mattered at all with Penn.

Penn stood up from his seat, knowing that his partner was keeping something important from him, but before he could intimidate Teller with another false threat of a broken arm, their dressing room door swung open, and Lorne walked in with a clipboard. He quickly checked his watch before sitting down at the table.

“Uh, listen, boys,” he said. “I want to quickly talk about one last minute change.”

Penn shot a glance back to Teller before sitting back down.

“I thought you said it was good,” he said.

Lorne nodded slowly. “It is,” he said, looking down at his clipboard. “It’s very good, but it still makes me nervous. I want you to let Teller out at the end.”

Penn shook his head. “But I don’t have the key,” he said. “And besides. You heard them laughing out there. They loved it!”

“Penn,” Lorne said patiently. “I know they did, but if you don’t let him out at the end, you know, to show the audience that he’s not really dead, I can’t let you go on. Not everybody thinks that death is a joke.”

Penn tried to steal a look at the clipboard, but Lorne slid it from view. “Let me have a word with my partner about it,” he said.

Teller hopped down from the counter and walked to the far corner of the room with Penn. From the table, Lorne couldn’t hear a word that was being said. Penn seemed to be doing most of the talking, but a few times, Teller raised himself up onto his toes to whisper something into Penn’s ear. He looked back at Lorne, then nodded to Penn.

“I just don’t wanna look like a wimp out there, is all,” Lorne heard Penn say as he turned around. “Okay,” he said to Lorne. “We’ll wimp out for you. But we think that it would have worked much better without this change.”

Lorne nodded slowly. “Good,” he said. He looked down at his clipboard as he rose to his feet. “I’ve moved you, so you guys are on at 12.30. Be out there by twelve.”

Teller looked down at his non-existent watch and left the dressing room.


	17. Chapter 17

Teller sat backstage, nervously peeling paint off of a metal pole that ran up along the wall. Just ten minutes before they were supposed to be on stage, Penn finally walked through the buffer doors.

“Ready, Teller?” he whispered.

Teller nodded. He watched one of the new players — Jon, he thought was his name — play a film critic on a fake television show. He tried to imagine that this run was just like the one before, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that the cameras were recording this time. This was for real. A screw-up on Broadway was easily forgotten. A screw-up in front of umpteen skidillions on national television could be career suicide.

“Hey,” Penn said, putting his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “This is gonna be fun,” he assured. “You fixed the problem a long time ago. Don’t worry.”

Teller inhaled deeply. Penn was vamped; he was ready. He had a way of making it all just seem like a fun game.

Jon’s sketch ended, and the show cut to commercial. In a mad rush, the crew rushed out to change the set. Penn & Teller didn’t get any special backdrop for their segment, so this was the first time either of them had seen the beige flats that would stand behind them. For all they knew, the flats were just a generic guest background; neither of them had watched the show with any regularity at all. Saturday nights off were rare.

Don Pardo quickly announced from his booth that the show was coming out of commercial. This was show-time. Someone on the floor counted down from five, cueing Don to announce Penn & Teller. They jumped their cue slightly, entering a few beats early, but no one noticed.

“Good evening,” Penn said to Camera One. “My name is Penn Jillette, and this is my partner, Teller. When Lorne Michaels asked us to do this show, he said he wanted to see us do a card trick, but the thing about card tricks is that they’re lousy for television. We can see the trick, and the people in the first few rows can kinda see the trick, but you people up in the balcony and the cameras aren’t really gonna see it at all.”

Teller nodded and walked off stage. Without missing a beat, Penn continued.

“We’re gonna give you something to look at, real soon, but first, I need somebody to come up here with me…”

While Penn looked around the first few rows for a suitable victim, Teller rushed over to Marc and climbed up into the tank. He quickly submerged himself, taking a moment to tap on his quick duct tape fix before resurfacing. Marc handed him his SCUBA mask from his perch on the ladder, and as Teller situated himself, Marc pulled the lock from his pocket.

“Penn told me about the new change,” Marc confirmed.

Teller nodded. He dunked himself back under the water and let Marc lock the lid shut. The SCUBA regulator was passed down through the bars, and as Teller put it in his mouth, Marc stepped in front of the tank to wait for Teller’s signal. Teller checked himself out, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. Just as he got ready to give the signal, he noticed a small problem. A problem that hadn’t been there a few hours earlier He raised his left hand, debating between which signal he could give. The problem was small, and Penn had already gone on.

After another moment’s hesitation, Teller gave the international SCUBA divers’ code for “Okay,” and Marc handed him the dummy key and prepared to wheel the tank out. The victim had been chosen, and the premise of a television magic trick explained, so Marc took his cue and wheeled the large take out to the stage. Even through the water and glass, Teller could hear the eruption of laughter. He couldn’t help but smiling just a little. Penn saw, even behind the mask, and giggle a little bit.

Through the bit, Teller paid little attention to Penn, and kept his eye on his secret problem. It seemed to have been doing fine. Two minutes in, and no problems. He went on as rehearsed, sinking to the bottom of the tank to keep Penn from getting the key. He’d be fine. He was confident enough that he thrashed about as planned when it came time for Penn to ignore him, but he soon realized that the thrashing had agitated his secret problem. He quickly stopped and went as still as possible to avoid making the problem any worse. He quickly threw the key into the audience and turned around. Now, with no way to look at Penn, he had no idea how much longer in the trick. He could no longer hear Penn’s shouting over the audience’s roaring laughter. All Teller could hear was the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He begged to himself that Penn wasn’t being his regular funny self. Laughs took time, and Teller soon realized that time was not something he had. With every passing second, his secret problem grew worse and worse. He knew that now, there must not have been much time left in the trick. He didn’t want to give the secret signal just before Penn made the reveal, but on the same token, he had no idea when Penn would make the reveal. He decided that he would slowly count down from ten, and if the reveal had not come, he’d make the signal. Slowly, he went down to one, trying to time his counting as best he could with his contracting lungs. Just as he got to “one” in his mind, he felt Penn grab his hand and turn him around. There was supposed to be laughter right now, but Teller didn’t hear it. All he heard was the blood rush in his ears.

He didn’t see Marc rush out from the wings to unlock him. As Marc stuck the key into the lock, Penn returned to address the audience once more. Marc pushed the lid open, allowing Teller to climb out. As soon as Teller grabbed on to the edge of the tank, Marc knew something wasn’t right. Teller’s face was almost purple and he was having a harder time holding on to the edge of the tank than when they had first started working on the illusion. Marc climbed up on the ladder brought out by one of the techies and took Teller’s hand, holding him above the surface.

“What happened?” Marc asked.

Penn turned around to look at Teller in time to see his partner whispering something at Marc. Teller never talked to Marc. Things had blown up at the office, and Teller still didn’t talk to Marc. Penn waited for the cameras to shut off before walking back to his partner.

“What happened?” he asked.

Teller was still panting, but now he felt like he was going to vomit on top of it.

“The mask failed big time,” Marc said as the curtains fell.

In front of the curtain, Penn heard Madonna announce musical guest Simple Minds. He and Marc helped Teller down from the tank. As soon as Teller’s feet hit the floor, he staggered off back to the wings. Penn gave a worried look to Marc before following his partner back off stage.

“Man, what happened?” he asked.

Teller leaned against one of the prop tables and threw the mask down in front of him. Penn picked it up and looked at it.

“Jesus Christ,” he said gravely, noticing Teller’s secret problem at once. He opened his mouth to ask how it had happened, but as soon as he found the words, he knew exactly what had happened. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered.

Teller either didn’t hear, or didn’t care. Plotting something evil, Penn reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a small key ring.

“Do you think you’ll be alright to drive?” he asked.

After a moment, Teller nodded. Penn handed him the keys, closing Teller’s hand around them.

“I heard that woman-friend of yours needs a ride home,” he said. “Go be a gentleman, and I’ll take care of this problem,” he said, motioning to the mask.

Teller nodded, and after a few seconds, began to get undressed so he could dry off.


	18. Sunday

For the first time since he met Lorne, Teller wore a freshly pressed suit. He stood in front of the mirror in their dressing room, making sure that all of his props and toys were in their proper pockets. He pulled a few coins from his pocket, and after quickly inspecting them, he dropped them back where he found them. From one of his inside pockets, he pulled out a small leather-banded watch and wrapped around his left wrist. After quickly adjusting it, he checked the time and ran back out to the set for the final curtain call. He found Penn standing backstage, talking to a few of the actors. Teller walked over to Penn, taking his usual place by his partner’s side.

“Hey, man,” Billy said, clapping Teller on the arm. “Great job tonight. Can’t wait to see you guys come back.”

Teller smiled and him and nodded. Out on the set, Simple Minds was hurriedly striking their equipment and rushing over to the main stage to join the rest of the cast. As Madonna took her mark, Don Pardo announced over the speaker that they’d be coming out of commercial in thirty seconds, cueing the cast to all gather around the gorgeous host. On auto-pilot, Penn took a spot at the back of the crowd, effectively blocking Teller from view of the cameras. Giggling to himself, Penn grabbed Teller by his jacket and pushed him forward through the crowd.

“I almost forgot about you,” he said, straightening out Teller’s lapels.

The final countdown began, setting the audience in a roar of applause. Over the din, Madonna delivered her thank-yous. As soon as she finished, the cast began to move about, each jokingly thanking one another. After about ten seconds of the band wailing the closing theme, the stage lights were dimmed to about 30%, and the cast began to shuffle back offstage. As they all moved out to the hall, Teller approached Victoria and tapped on her shoulder to get her attention. When she turned to see who had tapped her, Teller pulled the car keys from his pocket and held them up for her to see.

“What’s that?” she asked hesitantly.

“I believe,” Penn said from behind her, “that he’s offering you a ride home.” He smiled and continued his way back out to the hall.

“Oh,” Victoria said, considering the offer. “Thank you. I have to leave really soon though,” she said. “Is that alright?”

Teller nodded as he put the keys back in his pocket and followed Victoria out to the hall.

“Wait here,” she said. “I have to grab my stuff real quick.”

Teller nodded. He got out of the way from the door traffic and waited for her to return. As he waited, Penn walked back out to the hall from the green room and put his hand on Teller’s shoulder.

“I’ll take care of whatshisface while you’re gone,” he said quiet enough for only Teller to hear. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

Teller realized that Penn had set up giving Victoria a ride earlier that evening. He worried about what Penn had planned to do; for all his joking and false threats, Penn was not a violent man. This was a man whose favourite colour was pink, for Christ’s sake.

Teller knew that at this point there was no way out, so he just nodded. Penn turned to leave, but was stopped by a police officer who had just walked around the corner.

“Is there a problem, officer?” Penn asked.

Just before the officer could answer, Lorne walked out to the hall from backstage.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he muttered, seeing the cop.

“You Lorne Michaels?” The officer asked, looking down at his note pad.

Lorne nodded. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “What’s this about?”

The officer sized up Penn, deciding at once that he would probably be a threat. “I’m sure you’ve been told about the theft downstairs,” he said. “It happened Friday afternoon.”

Lorne nodded. “Yes, but what are you doing up here if it happened on Dave’s set?”

The officer looked around the floor, the atmosphere quickly becoming chaotic. “We have reason to believe that the perp works here in the building,” he said. “Are these guys with you?” he asked, pointing to Penn and Teller.

“Yeah,” Lorne said slowly. “But they’re only here for the week.”

The officer didn’t like that statement. He nodded and wrote something down in his notepad.

“What are your names?” he asked.

Penn stepped closer to Teller. “Penn Jillette — That’s Penn with two Ns and a J. Not a G — And Teller. T-E-L-L-E-R.”

The officer looked up at Penn. “Do you always speak for him.”

“Yes,” Penn and Lorne said together.

“Oh,” the officer said, suddenly misunderstanding the situation. He wrote something else in his notepad before flipping through the pages.

Lorne looked over at Penn and Teller, for the first time seriously wondering just who he had hired. As the three of them desperately tried to figure out their predicament, Teller quickly tugged on Penn’s jacket and pointed to his feet. Almost at once, Penn knew what Teller had come up with.

“What time did the… theft happen?” he asked.

Lorne looked up at Penn, realizing what Penn was asking about. The officer, not exactly sure why they were asking, flipped through the pages of his notepad.

“At about one-thirty,” he said. “Why?”

Penn looked down at Lorne. “Do you still have that accident report?” he asked.

Lorne nodded. “Just a minute,” he said. “It’s in my office.” He ran down the hall, praying that he hadn’t hired a couple of thieves.

“Accident report?” the officer said, watching Lorne run toward his office.

“Yeah,” Penn said. “Teller got hurt after our rehearsal on Friday, so we wound up spending most of the afternoon on seven.”

The officer flipped through his notepad, hoping to find something that would correspond with Penn’s statement. “What do you mean, ‘got hurt’?” he asked.

“Well—” Penn started, but he was cut off by Lorne.

“Here it is,” Lorne said out of breath. He handed the officer a file folder.

The officer looked through the folder at the report. According to the time stamps, they had been in the nurse’s office from 1.24p to 2.45p, effectively taking them off of the suspect list. The officer huffed through his nose, not liking where his investigation was going.

“Well,” he said to the three of them. “I apologize for taking up your time. Be sure and let us know if you remember anything else that might help.”

Lorne nodded. He looked up at Penn. “How did you remember that?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” Penn said as he shook his head. “It was Teller’s idea.”

Lorne shook his head, not wanting to argue. Penn watched him go and leaned in closely to Teller. “Let’s never do anything this stupid again,” he said.

As Penn turned to walk back into the green room, Victoria walked around the corner to Teller.

“Ready?” she asked.

Teller nodded and let her lead the way to the lobby As soon as the elevator doors shut, Teller took off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. He carefully rolled up the red silk and put it in his inner pocket.

“Does your friend… Penn?… does he decide on what you guys wear?” Victoria asked.

Teller shrugged and shook his head lightly. The more she tried to strike up conversation with him, the more Victoria wondered how he managed to get along before Penn came around. The elevator stopped on the ground level, and the two of them walked across the street to the hotel.

“Penn said earlier today that you used to be a teacher,” she said. “But he didn’t say what you taught.”

Teller nodded.

“That’s really cool,” she said. “Good for you.”

She sounded honestly impressed, but Teller didn’t let himself forget that she was an actor for one of the biggest shows on television.

Teller handed the valet his parking voucher and the keys. As the two of them stood on the curb, waiting for the truck to be brought around, Teller realized that is was probably cold enough to snow. He looked up at the purple cloud cover and shuddered lightly. The valet attendant quickly brought the truck around and opened the passenger side door for Victoria. As Teller walked around to get inside, he noticed Penn leaving 30 Rock.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

Victoria knew that conversation with Teller wasn’t going to happen, but she talked anyway, making the ride only slightly less awkward. She talked about everything; about getting the job at 30 Rock, about her kids, about her divorce. The entire twenty minute ride to her apartment in Chelsea was filled with as many subjects as Victoria could think to talk about. Every so often, she would stop in her prattling to let Teller know where to turn, only to pick right back up where she had left off.

“This is it, right here,” she said, pointing to an old brownstone on the corner of Eighth Avenue.

Teller nodded and pulled up to the curb next to the building. He climbed out of the truck and quickly walked around to open the door for Victoria, making sure she didn’t slip on the little bit of ice that had begun to form on the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” she said, not exactly sure if this was the same man she had met earlier that week.

Teller walked her to the steps, purposefully avoiding being asked upstairs. Once Victoria reached the landing, Teller turned around and walked back to the truck. He opened the passenger door, and after a moment’s hesitation, he shut and locked it. Sighing deeply through his nose, Teller turned back around.

“Latin.”

Victoria turned around suddenly, seeing Teller standing by the truck with his hands in his pockets.

“I… I taught Latin,” he said.

Victoria almost dropped her keys. Ten minutes before, she was convinced she had this man figured out, but now she knew nothing about him.

“Really?” she asked, more than a little confused.

Teller nodded.

“Well,” Victoria said, trying to find the key to open the door to the building. “Good night.”

Teller nodded again as she stepped inside. As soon as the door swung shut, Teller dashed back to the truck and started the engine. He’d already taken longer than he wanted driving Victoria home, leaving Penn dangerously alone for far too long. Teller quickly checked for traffic, and pulled out onto Eighth Avenue.


	19. Chapter 19

Teller had every intention of going back to the hotel room as his partner had instructed, but to be sure, he detoured by Times Square on his way back. As he drove by the tightly-packed buildings, his worst fear was realized; though the shades were drawn, the lights were on in the barber shop he and Penn had visited earlier in the week. With every other building in the square dark, the barber shop was every bit suspicious as telling the audience that there was nothing up your sleeves. Teller parked the truck on the curb right outside the barber and tried to look through the shades. All he could see were faint shadows, but they were moving, and that was all he needed. He quietly got out of the truck and stepped up to the door.

“You know what I think?” he heard Penn shout from inside. “I think you didn’t tell us the whole story. I don’t think she would have called the cops if the damn thing wasn’t really hers to begin with!”

“She called the cops?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Yes!” Penn shouted

Teller tried to figure out what to do as he stood out in the cold. He knew Penn must have been arguing with these guys for a while now, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of situation a person would just want to walk in to. Teller thought back to all of the “newer” films Penn had made him watch when they first partnered up. There were a lot of action films, and Teller was certain that at least one of them had a situation similar to his own.

He decided that what Penn needed was a good get-away. He’d get back in the truck and honk the horn. That would distract whoever else was in there with Penn long enough to allow his partner to get the hell out of there. Teller turned around to run back to the truck just as the door swung open. He knew he should have run. He told himself to run. But instead, he turned back around, finding himself face-to-face with a bear of a man.

“What the hell?” the man said when he saw Teller on the sidewalk. He grabbed Teller by the arm and pulled him into the shop. “Get in here,” he snarled.

Penn turned around to see what had just happened. His jacket was off, and his tie loosened enough to allow the top of his shirt to be unbuttoned.

“Goddamnit, Teller!” he shouted. He buried his hands in his face for a few seconds before looking back at his partner. “I asked you to do one thing. One thing!”

Teller opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He was wrong, and he knew it.

“Just shut up,” Penn said. Teller had never heard him sound more disappointed.

“Who is this guy?” one of the other thugs demanded.

“That’s the guy you tried to kill,” Penn snapped.

Teller suddenly recognized the men in the barber shop. All three of them were techies up at 8H. He couldn’t believe he’d missed it — both times they were sabotaged, it had happened at times when only techies would have been backstage. Mickey had been keeping an eye on them the whole time. They probably even knew exactly when they had taken the necklace from David’s studio. Teller shook the first thug off of him and walked over to Penn. As he tried to find the right words to tell Penn what had happened to the tank earlier that morning, he was grabbed again and shoved against the wall.

“Get your hands off of him!” Penn shouted, pushing the man away from Teller.

The thug took a swing at Penn, his fist barely grazing the magician’s chin. Penn made it a point to never hit out of anger, but pushing the man down seemed acceptable for the situation. The heavy-set man crashed down on the floor, landing squarely on his ass. As soon as he pushed the man, Penn realized that it was a stupid move. There were three men in the room, most likely armed with some sort of weapons, that had already made it clear that they didn’t care whether or not he and Teller were alive. At once, the two thugs still on their feet pulled switchblades from their pockets and stepped up to Penn.

“Oh, Jesus,” Penn said, taking a step back.

“Sit down,” the tallest demanded. He slashed his knife at Penn’s stomach, making him jump back slightly.

Penn looked around, desperately looking for a way out. He reached behind him and flung the door that lead to the basement open.

“Damn,” he said, looking down at the dark stairs.

Out of options, Penn started to step over to the nearest barber chair. As he moved slowly across the floor, Teller crammed his hands into his pockets. He felt the cold metal of his cane brush up against his knuckles, and slowly pulled it out from his pocket. He held the small film canister-sized roll of steel in his hand for a few seconds before acting. In one swift movement, he extended the cane and stepped forward, bashing the man who had threatened Penn over the head with it. The damage done was more than Teller had expected. The man covered the back of his head with his hand and stumbled down to his knees.

“Jesus Christ, Teller,” Penn said, looking at the destroyed cane. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Surprised at his own actions, Teller shook his head and shrugged. He looked over at Penn, not sure what to do next, but before either of them could think, one of the other two thugs grabbed Teller’s shoulder and shoved his knife into Teller’s stomach, pulling it out just as quickly. He pushed Teller down the stairs to the basement and slammed the door shut.

“Teller!” Penn shouted, jumping to his feet.

The thug flicked his knife once at his side, spattering small red droplets across the tiled floor. Penn rushed the man, but found himself outnumbered three to one. They shoved him back down onto the chair, tying him down with an extension cord one of them had grabbed from under one of the sinks. Penn continued to scream and shout, so one of the men ripped the tie from around Penn’s neck and used it to gag him.

Down in the cellar, Teller could hear the scuffling quiet down. A small lamp in the corner of the cellar cast a dim yellow light over everything, creating more shadows than it did illumination. Teller lie on the cement floor, not exactly sure what had just happened. He remembered seeing the knife, and then he remembered blackness.

Unable to sit up properly, Teller un-tucked his shirt with his left hand, and touched his stomach where he had felt the knife. Everything was wet and sticky, but he couldn’t find the cut. As he lie in the dark with his head pounding, he began to wonder if he really felt the knife at all. He force himself to sit up, and turned toward the lamp. He looked down at his shirt, able to easily tell the difference between the light blue fabric and the red blood in the dim light. He felt his stomach once more, and still found nothing. Cautiously bringing his hand up to the light, Teller looked at the dull glint. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his face and stuck his fingers in his mouth. It wasn’t blood he tasted, but corn syrup. Teller began to chuckle to himself, slowly letting his unadulterated joy elevate him to near hysteria. He reached into his jacket and pulled an empty plastic pouch and his tie from his inner pocket. His tie was destroyed, having taken most of the blade. Still laughing, he threw the pouch and his tie down to the ground and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned of his hands as best he could.

As he sat in the dark acting much like Lady Macbeth, Teller remembered that Penn was still in trouble. He quickly jumped to his feet and began looking around the cellar for something that would help aid their escape. As his eyes adjusted to the pathetic light, he began to look through drawers and boxes throughout the cellar. Finally, in a jacket hanging on the wall, Teller found exactly what he needed — a revolver. He opened the chamber, taking out all but one bullet. Not sure what to do with the rest, he shoved them in his pocket. Slowly, he climbed the stairs, trying to listen to what was going on behind the door. He could only hear muffled voices, which meant that Penn wasn’t talking. As he reached the top of the stairs, he clutched onto the revolver tightly, wishing he had found an alternative way of saving their asses.

Teller threw the door open and stepped back into the barber shop. Not sure what — or who — might have been above the shop, he fired his single round into the wall by his feet. The bang was way louder than it had ever been on television, and Teller jumped. After taking a few moments to recover, he slowly walked sideways toward Penn. He held the revolver awkwardly in front of him, effectively keeping the three men away from him. Using his free hand, he untied Penn as quickly as he could. Still pointing the unloaded weapon at the stunned men, Teller led Penn outside to their truck, handing his partner the keys. As soon as Teller climbed into the cab, he dropped the revolver on the floor and collapsed in his seat.

“Sonofabitch!” Penn shouted as he started the car.

He looked at the blood that covered Teller’s shirt, just knowing that their careers were over. He quickly weighed the situation, and started the truck. They were only a few blocks from the hotel, and Penn figured that he could more safely tend to Teller in the parking lot. He didn’t bother with the valet this time; he went straight to the self-parking.

“Teller, let me see,” he said as soon as he cut the engine.

Teller shook his head and waved Penn off. He was still shaking from having to be the hero.

“Goddamnit, Teller,” Penn said, trying to situate himself to get a look at Teller’s stomach.

Teller pushed Penn away and opened the door. He stepped out onto the pavement and took off his jacket. Even if he could get the blood out, it was still destroyed. He shook his head as he carefully folded it up and sat it on the hood of the truck.

“Are you okay?” Penn asked cautiously as he stepped out of the truck.

Teller nodded as he looked down at his shirt — which was also destroyed. He stretched it out in front of him to see if the knife had even made it all the way through his jacket. In all the sticky, corn syrup mess, he couldn’t find anything. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, leaving just his slightly less stained undershirt on.

“You’re not even hurt,” Penn noticed. He walked around the truck to Teller and picked up his friend’s clothes from the hood of the truck. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he said, looking down at the blood-soaked jacket. "That was almost enough to give this Atheist some religion."

Teller shook his head and took his shirt and jacket from Penn.

“Come on,” Penn said softly.

 

♣ ♣ ♣

 

As they walked through the lobby to the elevator, the concierge noticed their disheveled state and rushed over to see if they needed any assistance.

“No,” Penn said as he pushed the up button for the lift. “We hit a dog. We’re fine,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

The elevator doors swung open and the two stepped inside. They made their way to their suite in silence, neither even wanting to look at the other. Penn unlocked the door to their room and dropped Teller’s corn syrup-soaked clothes on the floor. Teller blankly walked back to his room and stripped down to his shorts. He put his bathrobe on and walked back out to make sure Penn was alright. Penn was busy changing out of his clothes, so Teller went to the kitchen area to make himself some tea.

“Teller,” Penn said, looking down at the nightstand by his bed. “Did you pick up that necklace when we came in?”

Teller shook his head.

“Well, it was right goddamn here,” Penn said, pointing to the empty night stand. “I brought it back here after I realized I still had it in my jacket. I swear I put it right here.”

Penn began to tear up his bed, frantically looking for the small velvet box. Teller walked out to see what Penn was freaking out about and set his mug down on the table. In the centre of the table, he noticed a plain white envelope that hadn’t been there earlier. Unsure, he lifted the flap and peeked inside. Surprised at what he saw, he whistled loudly and covered his mouth.

“What?” Penn asked as he spun around.

Teller stepped over to Penn and handed him the envelope. Inside was ten-thousand dollars in cash and a note. Penn read the note, and turned around to look at the door. Teller took the note from his hand and read it for himself, not quite able to comprehend the contents after the day they’d had. He tossed the note down on the nightstand and rubbed his face with his fingertips.

“None of this,” Penn said slowly, looking back into the envelope, “ever leaves this room.”

Teller nodded and sat down on the foot of Penn’s bed. He looked out the window to the GE building across the street, knowing that the next time they had to do a show for Lorne would be far too soon.

“I think,” Penn said, looking out the window as well, “if we get called in to do the show next month, we should to a Christmas bit.”

Teller forced a small laugh and looked up at his partner. Penn looked down at the clock, not at all surprised at what he saw.

“Get out of here,” he said, pushing Teller off of his bed. “I’m going to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this is so old. But I wanted to upload it anyway, despite its badness. If you've made it all the way to the end, I salute you, because this fic is terrible.


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